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Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

LANDON   &    LUMLEY, 
in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


[PHOfC-STEAM-LITHi 
* ■/'■■■■n-A.i   PI         ■■ ' 


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^ 


Many  of  the  letters  in  this  volume  first  appeared  in  the  New 
York  Commercial  Advertiser,  but,  with  others,  they  are  now 
presented  in  a  changed  and  highly  improved  form. 

The  Press  has  echoed  the  following  sentiment  of  the  Rich- 
mond Whig: — 

**  '  Lan,'  the  wicked,  mischievous  and  dashing  correspondent  of  the 
Commercial  Advertiser,  has  surpassed  all  contemporaneous  letter  writers  in 
waggery,  fun,  invention,  and  sensational  eflect.  He  has  made  a  national 
reputation." 

*'  '  T^an's  '  Saratoga  letters  were  supplemented,  after  the  return  of  their 

author,  Mr.    Melville  D.  Landon,  to   New  York,  by  the   humorous  and 

statistical  letters  of  '  Eli  Perkins  ' ;  and  this  new  nom  de  plume  has  become 
as  well  known  as  '  Lan.'  " 

"  The  letters  of  both  *  Lan '  and  '  Eli  Perkins '  have  won  so  wide  a 
popularity  throughout  the  United  States  that  we  have  asked  Mr.  Landon 
to  prune  them,  enrich  them  with  suitable  additions,  and  arrange  them  ibr 
publication  in  a  book." 

Here   is    the    book — embellished,    moreover,  with    numerous 

graphic  illustrations  from  the  felicitous  pencil  of  Mr.  Arthur 

LUMLEY. 

THE  PUBLISHERS. 


ni 


/|^ 


r^r-j 


PAGE. 

UP  THE  HUDSON— Off  for  Sar- 
atoga.   1 

Horse-Racers 2 

Gamblers 3 

Clertjymen 5 

The  old  Pilot 6 

SARATOGA — Preparing  for  the 

Great  Race 7 

Longfellow 8 

Lo !  the  Poor  Indian 10 

Joke 10 

STEEPLE  CHASE 11 

Jockeys \'l 

Jake 12 

Albert 13 

GRAND  STAND 14 

The    Ijadies    on    the    Grand 

Stand— Betting 16 

ARTEMUS  WARD 17 

TRAVERSES  JOEIE 19 

PHIL()SOPHY 19 

CONGRESS  SPRING,  Saratoga.  20 


PA  OK. 

The  Statistics  of  Saratoga.  ...  20 

Early  Settlement 22 

Growth  of  Saratoga 22 

The  ( >ld  United  States 23 

The  Race  Ti-ick 24 

Use  oi'  the  Waters 24 

Analysis  of  Springs  in  a  Nut- 
Shell  25 

RACES— FUN-PERSONAL  ...  26 

Horse  Talk 26 

A  PARI^  Y  ( )F  TAMM A \ Y ITES  27 
The  Round  Lake  Cainj)  Meet- 

ing 28 

Fuimy 28 

Who  "is  Here?  (Personal) 28 

Li  >VE  AND  GEOGRAPHY 31 

GINX'SBABY 32 

THE  BLOOD  OF  MARRY  LEE.  35 
The  Storj^ — Calhoun  and  Web- 
ster's Big  Hearts 35 

GEN.  .^HERMAN  TALKS 3.S 

Sherman's  Story 39 


\ 


/|V 


—  •  — 

\ 


CONTENTS. 


FAOK. 

Pirisidential 40 

j:]nipeior  Grant 41 

FUN  P.ETWEEiN  TIIE  HOUSES  43 

Yankee  Jews 45 

Indignation 45 

Dainty  Pishes 45 

Extreino  of  Vice 46 

Gaml)linfr 46 

Sr  KINK  LED— New  Spring,  Jes- 
sie Crane 47 

New  Indian  Spring 4S 

Fizz 48 

\V:ilking  Sticks 49 

SA  J{  Ai'<  H\  A  TU  KN-OUTS 50 

M<  K  )N  ( )N  THE  LAKE 53 

Kiel)  Sam  Duncan 54 

Poor  Sam  Duncan 54 

Old  "Frank  Waddell''  Bottle  54 

Potatot^s  (The  Secret) 56 

iiAK AT(  )G A  GOSSIP 57 

Levity  at  the  Clarendon 57 

Joke 58 

C4roesbeck  on  the  War  Path..  58 

Self-made  Men 58 

"Poker" 59 

The  First  Masquerade 61 

Masquerade  Generally 62 

Brown's  Boys 62 

The  Pirates 63 

Ancient   Henry 64 

Uncle  Hank  in  the  Grocery.  .  64 

CONGK ESS  SPUING 68 

Dreadful  Developments 69 

No  Word  of  lIoi)e 70 

Our  Correspondent  Expelled.  71 

Lan Invited  to  Go 72 

The  Exile's  lieturn 74 

ELI   PEl; Kl NS'  SEIIMON 75 

The  (Jontrast 76 

Among  (Jentlemen.    76 

The  Newest  Sensation 76 

These  Cretonne  Suits 77 

Gentlemen's  Toilets 77 

Dressing  at  Saratoga 77 

Benclies   In    Congress  Spring 

Park 78 

Statistics 78 

SAIJATOGA    AMUSEMENTS..  80 

<  »ne  More  Joke 81 

Eli     I'erkins     Preaches     on 

Prices 82 


Feeing  Waiters 83 

Hats 84 

EliisJ^n 84 

PICTURES «5 

A  beautiful  Christian 85  . 

Full   Dress  Ball  at  Congress 

Hall 87 

Married  l,adies  with  Beautiful 

Cliildren ^"^ 

LOVE  IN  A  GRAVEYARD. ...     89 

The  Old  Sexton 89 

EPITAPHS 92 

TIIE  EFFECT  OF  THE  SNAKE 

STOKY— AJOKE 96 

SAKKASUM 98 

THAT  HORRIBLE  BUCK 100 

RE\ .  ELI  PERKINS 102 

Types 1 1^3 

FLIRTING 105 

When  Fred's  a  Flirt 106 

MEYERS    AND  THE  CEDAR 

BLUFF 108 

GRAND  HOP  AT  THE  CLAR- 
ENDON   Ill 

Swells 112 

KISSES 114 

GRAND  SOCIAL  CONGRESS. .  .  116 

At  tlie  Clarendon 117 

Committee  on  Incomes 118 

Committee  on  Pedigrees 118 

Committee  on  Flirtation 118 

Committee  on  Dress 110 

Other  Committees 119 

The  Intriguing  Committee. . .  120 
These  Terrible  Developments  120 

A  CHRISTIAN  ACT 121 

Subscriptions 122 

PORTRAITS— Geo.  H.  Bissell, 
B.  F.  Beekman,  Chas.  Wall, 
John  R.  Cecil,  Hugh  J. 
Hastings,  Col.  A.  Boody,  Jas. 
H.  Breslin,  Peter  Gilsey, Col. 

Abeil  Hey  wood 123 

Fun 124 

Awful  Profanity 124 

COL.  FISK  OF  THE  9th 125 

FASHIONABLE    SOCIETY  AT 

THE  CIRCUS 127 

Affecting  Incident 128 

"  Society  Peoj^le  '' 130 

Our  Circus  Mirror 13] 


VI 


/IN 


—  •  ^— 

\ 


CON  TINTS. 


PAGE, 

Personal 13  J 

An  Episode  of  War 1.32 

More  Personal 133 

Toilets 133 

Guests    Present — Very    Per- 
sonal   134 

Eli  Perkins  of  Connecticut. . .  136 
JOKE— EVERYBODY  SOLD..   137 

Fun  at  Dinner 130 

SARATOGA  CROWDS 140 

Old  Dog  Brave 141 

MR.  PERKINS  GOES  TO  THE 

CLARENDON 142 

A  Poor  Man 143 

CLARENDON 145 

Watching  the  Balcony 145 

JOSH  BILLINGS  INTERVIEW- 
ED  147 

MR.  PERKINS  MOURNS  BE- 
CAUSE HE  D<JES  NOT 
DANCE    THE    ROUND 

DANCES 150 

Terrible  Development 150 

Eh  in  Tears 152 

ECLIPSE  OF  THE  GAS  WORKS  153 

To  Sleep 15G 

THE  GREAT  SCANDAL  CASES 
— Barons  and  Judges  Impli- 
cated    158 

The  Joke  a  Success 1 59 

SARATOGA  INDIAN  STORY— 
Lena  and  Oronta  Disappear 

in  Congress  Spring 163 

THE  DEFEAT  OF  LONGFEL- 
LOW—The  Breaking  of  Old 

John  Harper's. Heart 169 

A  Funeral  and  a  Wedding ...   169 

After  the  Race 271 

ELI  CRAZY  ON  STATISTICS— 
Multiplication,  Addition,  and 
Substraction 172 


PAGR. 

More  Statistics , 173 

The  Other  Hotel  Statistics.  .  .    176 
THE  BAITLE  OF  SARATOGA.   177 

The  Colored  Troops 179 

The  Cun  Boats 179 

The  Battle  Rages .* 180 

THE  PERKINS  FAMILY 182 

SARATOGA  IN  1901— Eli  an  Old 

Man 191 

Europe 193 

Dropjied     Down      at      Long 

Branch 193 

Through  the  Air  to  Saratoga.   195 
How  the  Young  Ladies  were 

Dressed 196 

Intemperance 198 

NEW  YORK  IN  1901— Fashion's 

Changes  201 

(.^OIN(t  TO  PARTIES  IN  190]..   2(»4 

CANT  WORDS  IN  19(11 2(t7 

New  American  Dictionary.  .  .  .  208 
Ritualism     in    1901— Candles 

Versus  the  Sun 212 

Church  of  the  Imitation  Can- 
dles  215 

SARATOGA  AGAIN  IN  1901.. .  221 
Congress  Sjjring  Dries  Up .  . .   222 

Growth  of  Saratoga 222 

Longfellow  and  Uncle   John 

Harper 223 

The  Boys 224 

VALE 226 

HOME  AGAIN 227 

NEW  YORK—At  Ball  &  Black's  231 

ELI  CONFESSES  HIS  SINS 234 

FIFTH  AVENUE  FLIRTING..  236 

I  Like  to  be  Loved 236 

Julia's  Idea 238 

FLIRTING 241 

NEW  YEAR'S  CALLS 245 

ALBERT  AND  JULIA 249 


^1^ 


VII 


^1^ 


iS^^^wynvaipep^Ss^fpHn^snfsi^aii^^^ 


*^>^^-_  — — .--^_i'^ 


SiLXMLR    St.    JoHN.JlLX     lO. 

A  TRIP  up  the  Hudson  with 
a  boat  load  of  excursionists, 
horse-racers,  gamblers,  and  ad- 
venturers, is  a  trip  full  of  interest. 

The  k  e  e  n  observer  never 
wearies  with  the  evcr-changinij^ 
scene.  The  air  is  full  of  interest. 
Men,  fast  horses.  beautiful 
women  .  charming'  villas,  and 
beautiful  scener\'  occupy  tlie 
mind.  The  boat  is  a  little  minia- 
ture world  floating  away  from  the 
rest  of  humanity.  Then  the  dia- 
logues which  you  hear  on  every 
side  have  in  tliem  much  to  amuse 
and  a  world  of  wisdom  to  instruct. 
]W  the  side  of  Dr.  Hepworth,  full 


\l/ >u 

^  of  muscular  Christianity,  will  be  Belmont  and  Traverse,  full 
of  pictures  and  horses  ;  Astor,  full  of  tenant-houses,  and  Peter 
Cooper,  full  of  glue  and  gelatine.  Everything  is  discussed,  from 
theology  to  pigs'  feet,  from  horses  to  viaduct  railways. 
HORSE-RACERS. 
Among  the  rest,  we  see  several  professional  horse-racers  from 
Kentucky.  They  are  men  who  remain  idle  during  the  winter, 
and  as  spring  breaks,  they  commence  their  race-track  tramp. 
First  they  run  down  to  New  Orleans,  then  up  to  Long  Branch, 
then  to  Saratoga,  then  back  to  the  Branch.  Back  again  to  Sara- 
toga, and  an  end-up  at  Jerome  Park,  and  their  summer's  work  is 
done,  and  their  pockets  are  lined  with  the  happy  results  of  their 
observation  and  knowledge.  You  will  find  these  men  at  peep  of 
day  around  the  race-track,  talking  with  the  boys  or  observing 
the  horses  in  course  of  training.  When  the  race  comes  off  they 
know  every  horse — his  pedigree,  what  he  has  done,  what  he  can 
do,  and  what  he  will  do. 

,  -.  -,.^tvy^vv>  ^  Old  John  Harper,  the  owner  of  Longfellow, 

V^'^^V^v»^^^,  vvas  with  them  last  night,  but  the  old  fellow 

He  stood  like  an  animated 
ghost,  with  his  white  hair 
streaming  in  the  wind,  but 
not  one  word  could  they 
get  out  of  him  about  Long- 
fellow. 

"  What  is  the  best  he  ever 
did  ?"  asked  one. 

"  O,  he's  done  some  right 

smart     trotting     down    in 

Kentuck,"  replied   old  John,  and  then  he  was  as  silent  as  the 

grave,  his  sharp  gray  eyes  all  the  time  resting  admiringly  on  his 

beautiful  horse. 

It  is  a  queer  sight  to  see  this  venerable  old  batchelor,  bending 
under  the  weight  of  eighty  winters,  tottering  along  after  his  only 
love — a  horse  !     His  pet,  a  four  year  old  17-hand  white  faced 


jpjlflll 

1    would  not  talk. 

pPyAf^WWwjwtoK^^B 

|^^9| 

HHp 

P^PH 

H 

piU 

J/ 

\ 


stallion  (sired  by  Leamington,  darn  Nanturah  by  Brouner's 
Eclipse),  is  always  with  him.  Indeed,  as  they  announced  the 
arrival  of  Bismarck  in  Paris  in  '67,  "accompanied  by  the  King 
of  Prussia,"  so  they  now  announce  the  goings  and  comings  of 
Longfellow,  accompanied  by  John  Har- 
per. Longfellow's  competitor  is  King- 
fisher (four  years  old,  sired  by  Lexington, 
dam  Eltham  Lass),  a  beautiful  hor^e 
1%  owned  by  Mr.  Belmont,  and  the  eyes 
of  a  nation  are  concentrated  on  this 
coming  race  at  Saratoga. 


GAMBLERS. 


Crowds  of  professional  gamblers 
from  New  York  gather  in  knots  on  the 
deck  of  the  St.  JoJin,  on  their  way  to 
visit  the  "gilt-edged  hells  "  in  Saratoga. 
They  are  a  handsome  set  of  rascals,  but  the  gambler  sticks  out 
in  every  feature.  Who  could  fail  to  recognize  the  profession  in 
the  long,  dyed  mustache  of  that  handsome  scamp  Johnnie  Lynch  ? 
The  observant  eye  can  pick  them  out  of  a  crowd  of  Christians 
as  it  can  separate  the  Cyprians  on  Broadway  from  the  innocent 
children  of  virtue.  It  is  always  a  mysteiy  how  these  fellows 
make  and  spend  so  much  money.  They  cannot  make  it  out  of 
the  faro-banks,  for  the  banks  must  make  enough  themselves  to 
pay  expenses.  In  this  quandery  I  questioned  a  friend  who  knows 
all  their  ways  and  "  tricks  which  are  vain." 

"  Make  it  by  legitimate  gambling  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  No,  sir  ! 
They  are  '  ropers-in-men.'  They  bring  others  to  play,  and  when 
they  have  lost  fortunes  they  receive  a  percentage  as  their  com- 
mission from  the  owner  of  the  bank.  These  fellows  are  brokers 
— faro-bank  brokers,  and  though  they  play  and  lose  ever  so 
much,  it  is  only  done  to  crowd  the  tables  and  create  an  interest. 
The  keeper /(Tj/ J-  back  their  losses." 


y|\ 


/i^ 


—  •  — 


On  the  boat  were  groups  of 
laughing,  banjo-playing  negroes 
— men  and  brothers  and  the  con- 
necting links  in  the  great  Dar- 
winian theory.  Where  would  Darwin's  nice  talk  be  without  the 
darkey  ?  No  one  would  think  of  jumping  from  the  monkey  to 
sth  Avenue.     First  we  commence  with  the  ape,  then  the  Hot- 


tentot, then  the  Sandwich  Islander  who  loves  and  eats  the  tender 
missionary  who  tauglit  him  to  love  his  fellow  man,  then  the 
Chinese,  then  the  darkey,  then  the  voters  in  the  shanties  on  the 
rocks  around  Central  Park, — then  the  5  th  Avenue  belles  and  swells 
in  fly-away  bonnets  and  dashy  tandems.  • 


^1^ 


/ 


\ 


CLERGYME 


Twice  I  was  awoken  out  of  a  profound  sleep  b)'  a  party  of 
Methodist  Ministers  bound  for  Round  Lake  camp-meeting.  ThL^y 
were  having  a  serious  discussion  with  an  unbeHever,  and  while  a 
zealous  minister  was  arguing,  1  came  out  of  my  state-room. 
The  good  man  turned  towards  me  and  asked  as  he  laid  his 
right  forefinger  argumentically  on  the  palm  of  his  left  hand  : — 

"  Was  or  was  not  Moses  right  ? " 

Moses  who  .'' 

"  Moses  in  the  Bible." 

Colonel  Heywood,  who  had  seen 
a  good  many  scoffers  in  California, 
came  to  my  relief.  He  said  :  "  Moses 
was  all  right.     His  head  was  level."' 
Then  the  cabir  was  quiet  again. 

ihe  last  heard  of  the  Colonel  he 
was  trying  to  prove  that  Sunday 
was  the  strongest  day  in  the  week 

"  Why  >  "  asked  the  clergyman. 

"  Because  all  the  other  days  are 
week  days." 

"  Oh  ! !  " 

Then  again  we  only  heard  the 
heavy  thug  of  the  engine. 

Thug—a^!  thug— a!  thug— a !    Xtv5,^v^iv^mAfeliUvo\\V? 


7* 


The  pilot  of  the  St.  John  is  an 
excentric  old  fellow.  He  stands 
all  day  long,  rain  or  shine,  alone 
in  the  pilot-house.  He  has  no 
one  to  talk  to,  so  he  converses 
aloud  to  hij^jsejlf,  5ome:^mes  he 
stands  and  talkj*- f©/,fitjmself  for 
hours.  He 'w^s  ,t:3.|^pig  to  him- 
self last  ni§^k^^:|>tt)pd  by  the 
pilot-htrus'e  Jilxar.  iFftis  is  the 
way  h8*-HGe^)ducitecl  me.,  dialogue  : 
"  Why  are  yoii  up  her^  -ih  the 
mist  and  rain  qf  this  Gbd-forsaken 
pilot-house,  m^ily  ?  You  are  a 
man  of  entcrfiijiise,  you  can  keep 
books,  you  c.aAf.^P^culate,  you  can 
run  a  newspg|3et,  you  could  be  an 
Alderman  and  f  go  to  Saratoga. 
Then  what's  .'||if|  good  of  stand- 
ing here  turning "^this  wheel  .'*' 
"  1  will  tell  you,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  it  is  because 
m^^'  -  you  are  a  fool,  Billy,  an  idiot,  and  a  jackass." 

^  "  But  what  business  is  it  to  yoii  ? "  continued 

'  Billy.  "  You  come  out  here  into  the  pilot-house  to 

brow-beat  jue  do  you  .''  Who  are  j'(?u  /  " 

"  You  are  a  low-lived,  sneaking, 
chicken -Jivered,  salaratus- eating 
Connecticut  Yankee,  any  way. 
and      I'm     honest,     hardworking 

William   Munson  !  !     D 3/our 

soul,  take  that !"  Then  he  chuckled 
at  his  joke,  and  went  on  turning 
liis  wheel,  which,  like  his  dialogue, 
went  round  and  round,  but  finally 
stopped  at  the  same  place. 

L.\N — 


—  •  — 


"1^ 


7 -^vr 

Congress  H^ll.  July  n. 

As  usual,  on  the  i  ith^fjuly,  Saratoga 
is  not  very  full.  The  ^^eat -hotels  kre 
sparingly  populated,  and  tfnere*i^  an/air 
of  waiting  about  everything.  Mr.  Rodgers  and  FmQk  H^thorn 
stand  behind  the  desk  with  pens  behind  their  ears  and  await 
patiently  the  coming  of  the  wonted  guests.  The  grea :  parlors 
look  lonely  enough,  and  Bernstein's  music  sounds  like  1:|ie  roar 
of  the  sea  upon  the  desolate  winter  beach  at  Long  Branch. 

The  great  races  commence  to-morrow,  the  coaches  will  come 
loaded  to-night,  and  morning  will  find  the  scene  changed  from 
the  deserted  halls  of  Pompeii  to  a  Roman  convocation. 

PEEP  IN  THE  MORNING. 

At  four  o'clock  this  morning  (think  of  it,   lazy  reader  !),  I 

left  Congress  Hall  and  rode  out  to  the  track  with  Gen.  Buford 

to  see  the  last  working  of  the  horses  before  the  races  to-morrow, 

Though  early  in  the  morning,  all  the  horsemen  were  on  hand. 


/|^ 


>l/ 

with  their  horses,  and  the  professional  betters  with 
their  stop-watches,  taking  down  the  exact  time  of 
each  horse  to  within  a  quarter  of  a  second. 

The  first  on  the  track,  a  little  after  daylight,  was 
__^_^^__  Belmont,  in  person,  with  Kingfisher  and  his  trainer. 
Ihc  agent  of  the  Rothschilds  was  preparing  for  the  grandest  race 
which  ""has  ever  or  will  ever  take  place  on  this  continent,  and  a 
race  on  which  will  be  staked  untold  thousands.  That  white- 
haired  old  wizzard.  half  concealed  behind  a  post,  and  holding  an 
old  black  silver  stop-watch,  is  John  Harper,  the  owner  of  Long- 
fellow, who  has  $80,000  staked  upon  the  race.  This  is  the  first 
time  he  has  seen  "the  Fi.sher,"  as  he  calls  him.  and.  almost 
breathlessly,  he  .stands  estimating  his  antagonist. 

"Too  much  belly  on  'the  Fi.sher'  to-day,"  remarks  General 

Buford. 

"  I'll  be  dog-on  if  that  little  short  cuss  can  beat  Longfellow," 
continues  a  lank,  red-haired  Kentuckian. 

"  Moves  like  he  could  run  some,"  said  old  John,  and  when  "  the 
Fisher "  came  along  he  quietly  got  up  and  went  down  to  the 
track. 

"  How  do  you  like  him.  old  man  r  asked  John  Hunter. 

"  Putty  dog-on  full  of  muscle,  Hunter,  and  he  branches  off  like 
he  had  hell  in  him,  sure,  but  I  guess  old  Longfellow  will  have 
his '  run,' "  and  then  shrewd  old  Harper  stopped  his  old  silver 
watch  to  get  Kingfisher's  time,  which  was  1:50. 

Old  John  remarked,  "  1  reckon  he  kin  do  1:41." 

Kingfisher  is  a  light  bay  horse,  full  of  muscles,  and  with  ter- 
rible action.      He  looks  like  a  racer  every  inch  of  him. 

LONC;  FELLOW, 

accompanied  by  his  stud  (Littleton,  Express,  and  Exchange),  now 
came  out.  He  looks  like  an  elongated  Chatham  square  hack- 
horse.  His  head  is  homely  ^nd  clumsily  put  on.  He  starts  off 
like  a  camel  charged  with  electricity,  but,  by-and-bye.  when  the 


"1^ 


—  •  — 

/ 

electricit}'  is  ^one,  he  settles  into  a  steady,  rolling  j^ait.  '1  hen 
his  strides  become  monstrous,  and  without  apparent  effort  he 
shoots  by  everjlhing"  on  the  track.  Longfellow  has  run  six 
races,  all  of  which  he  has  won,  though,  when  lie  was  a  three 
year  old,  he  was  beaten,  wltcn  sick,  by  Enquirer.  He  ran  in 
Lexington,  beating  Pilgrim — time.  1 137.  From  there  he  went  to 
Nashville,  beating  Morgan  Scout  without  eftbrt.  and  ran  in  iMem- 
phis,  beating  Morgan  Scout  and  John  Morrissey's  Defender.  He 
also  ran  in  Cincinnati.  At  the  Branch  he  has  just  easily  beaten 
Helmboldt,  Regards,  and  Breakneck.  Longfellow  did  1 144  b\' 
Harper's  old  silver  watch  this  morning. 

"  You  will  see  a  terrible  race  for  that  Saratoga  cup  on  Friday 
afternoon,"  said  Harper,  as  he  went  back  to  the  stable. 

"  Why  .'"  I  asked. 

"  Because  Longfellow  has  never  had  a  horse  to  run  with  him 
before.  He  always  comes  in  on  a  galop.  But  if  '  the  Fisher ' 
beats  him  this  time,  he  will  beat  the  best  horse  I  ever  saw." 

"Will  the  Fisher  beat  .'" 

Old  John  shook  his  head  ominously — then  he  said,  half  regret- 
fully, "  I  was  offered  $60,000  for  old  Long  at  the  Branch,  and  if 
he  wins  I  can  take  $100,000  for  him  ;  but  if  he  loses  I  will  sell 
him  for  $25,000.  So  you  see  I  have  $75,000  at  stake  on  the 
race. 

"  And  Belmont  is  betting  even  .'" 

"  Ye.s— he  offered  to  take  any  number  of  bets.  $500  to  $500. 
or  $5,000  to  $5,000.  coming  up  on  the  cars  yesterday. 

"  Who  have  you  got  training  this  $60,000  worth  of  horse  V 

"  Oh.  my  darkey  boys  take  care  of  him — they're  good  boys,  1 
raised  em,  too — on  the  farm  with  the  bosses.  TheJaays  like  the 
bosses,  and  they  get  on  well  together.  I  bought  old  Jake  there 
for  $1,500  from  Dr.  Shelby,  in  Kentucky,  but  1  think  as  iiiiic/i  o\' 
him  as  I  do  of  Longfellow." 

*'  Will  you  sell  Longfellow  if  he  wins  .-'  " 


.•  No  I  shall  take  him  back  to  Kentuck,  put  him  up.  and  breed 
from  him.  A  ,>uv  with  a  colt  from  him  would  sell  for  $5,000, 
and  I'd  soon  got  my  $  100,000  back." 

"  Would  you  like  a  cool  day  for  the  race  .'" 

•'  No,  the  hotter  the  better.     Hosses  run  better  hot  days  than 

cool  days."  r  n     r      • 

And  so  the  old  octogenarian  horse-racer  went  on— full  ol   wis- 
dom, philosophy,  and  someti^nes  fun. 

LO,  THE  POOR  INDIAN 

is  here  again  this  season,  but  the  Saratogians 

liave  run  him  a  little  further  into  the  woods — 

further  towards  the  setting  sun.     The  name 

applies  well,  for  they  are  all  low   Indians. 

Artemus  Ward  says  the  Indians  came  to  him 

on  the  plains  and  said  :  "  White  brother,  we 

are  just  traveling    toward   the  setting  sun. 

In  a  few  moons  more  the  lone  Indian  will 

touch   the  setting   sun  ; "  "  and  then,"  said 

Artemus,  "  they  stole  our  whiskey  and  blankets,  and  started  for 

the  sun  !  " 

JOKE. 

Mrs.  Colonel  Shafer  says  to-day  that  "  Saratoga  and  the  Gilsey 
House  are  charming  places,  but  they  do  remind  one  so  constantly 
of  home  !" 

"  Why,  dear  r  asked  the  Colonel. 

"  Because  they  are  the  dearest  spots  on  earth." 

LAN — 


10 


/ 
7iN 


What  is  a  ^^teeple-chase  '  CoNGRi  s.  H  \i  l ,  July  13 

Think  of  a  three-mile  race  over  walls,  fences,  ditches,  and 
hedges-over  the  pastures.  Think  of  three  John  Gilpins  flying 
like  death  on  a  pale  horse  ;  think  of  three  fire  engines  b,ound 
for  a  fire  ;  think  of  a  mad  horse  race  up  the  Roman  Corso  from 
Jjor^a  del popiilo  to  the  capital  during  carnival  week  !  Bret  Hart's 
Chiquita  running  herself  "  clean  out  of  her  harness  "  was  a  "  slow 
coatch "  to  the  crazy  leaping  of  the  steeple-chasers  to-day. 
Away  they  went  in  a  three-mile  race — "  hell  to  split  over  the 
prairie,"  if  we  may  quote  from  one  of  the  "  new  departure  "  poets 
— Oysterman  ahead  and  Tammany  and  Julius  neck  and  neck, 
the  jockeys  flying  like  frightened  Tamershantys. 

Now  somebody  shouts  for  Oysterman — now  lace  handkerchiefs 
swing,  and  the  tenor  voices  cry  for  Julius  ;  then  little  Tammany 
makes  a  spurt,  and,  forgetting  politics,  a  dozen  hats  wave  for  the 
horse  whose  name  has  lost  its  prestige. 

"  Two  to  one  on  Tammany  ! "  shouted  the  silver-moustached 
Fernando  Wood,  as  everybody  enthusiastically  shook  their  hand- 
kerchiefs. 

"  No  Tammany  for  me — Tammany  has  balked  in  the  harness," 
exclaimed  the  wife  of  an  ex-Congressman,  and  in  a  moment 
she  won  a  dozen  "  three  buttons  "  on  Oysterman. 

The  reply  w^as  satire  boiled  down  ;  for  the  lesson  of  a  city 
scourged  by  two  Halls — Tammany  and  Okey — with  their  riots 
and  corruption,  was  warm  in  the  memory  of  all. 


^1^ 


1 1 


't^ 


Rob  is  the 


HJCKEVS. 

Hclmoiit  and  Harper  have  been 
h^^iiring  for  the  star  jockeys  for  the 
Kingfisher-Longfellow  race  to- 
morrow The  venerable  John  has 
succeeded  in  retaining  Bob  Swim, 
who  ran  Longfellow  to  victory  at  the  Branch, 
smartest  jockey  in  the  States.  Light,  muscular,  and  as  trickey  as 
Mayor  Hall,  he  is  sure  to  cut  across,  or  through  or  over,  and  win 
every  race.  Two  years  ago  he  rode  Douglass  Johnson's  Muggins, 
capturing  the  Saratoga  cup;  then  he  rode  John  Harper's  Littleton, 
at  Lexington,  Ky.,  where  he  was  ruled  off  the  track  for  crossing 
another  horse's  path.  Yesterday  a  little  jockey  wedged  himself 
between  Bob  and  the  fence,  winning  a  race,  which  he  never 
would  have  won  if  Bob  had  not  been  on  probation,  and  afraid 
to  squeeze  to  the  boards  the  imper- 
tinent little  rider.  But  to-morrow, 
when  $80,000  depends  upon  the  race, 
Bob  .says  he'll  win  if  it  is  the  last  race 
he  ever  runs 

JAKE. 
"Who  is  to  ride  the  Fisher.'"  I  asked  of  Mr.   Belmont  this 
morning  at  the  l.'nion. 

"  Why — Jake,  the  smarte.st  boy  in  the  world." 
"  Who's  Jake  .' ' 

"Jake  is.  an  Lsland  boy,"  continued  Mr.  Belmont.  "  I  got  him 
pardoned  out  of  the  House  of  Correction.  Don't  you  know- 
Jake.'" — and  the  red-hot  Pru.ssian  was  as  indignant  as  Bret 
Harte's  Jim  when  he  said  : 


'  Say,  perhaps 
Some  on  you  chaps 
Might  know  Jim  Wild' 


Well,  no  otience — 
There  aint  no  sense 
A  gitting  riled.'' 


"Jake,"   said  the  natty  Belmont,  "is  the  brightest  boy  on  the 
track.     Lvc  got  twelve  different  boys,  most  of  them  from  "the 


12 


>*/ xi^ 

/ 

Island."  but  Jake  can  steal  them  all  poor.  He  has  the  best  whip, 
the  best  spurs,  and  is  sure  to  steal  the  best  place  on  the  liack. 
But  Jake  divides  with  the  boys,  and  they  like  him.  Last  sum- 
mer he  stole  two  pet  chichens  from  my  trainer,  and  the  next  da\- 
the  little  rascal  presented  him  with  one  of  //is  oicji  chickens  all 

dressed ! 

ALBERT. 

Major  McDaniel's  boy,  Albert,  who  rode  Oysterman  to-da>-. 
is  as  black  as  the  ace  of  spades.  He  is  a  native  Virginian- 
raised  on  the  Major's  farm.  The  Major  paid  $150  for  him  when 
he  was  three  months  old — taking  his  sick  mother,  who  was 
throzufi  in  in  the  bargain.  Major  McDaniel,  who  is  a  plain,  blunt 
old  Virginian,  fairly  worships  the  boy,  who,  in  turn,  looks  upon 
the  Major  as  the  very  Cassar  of  the  track. 

"How  long  have  you  been  with  the  Major.'"  1  asked  of  little 
Albert. 

"  Dun-no  ;  'reckon  it's  gwine  on  twenty  years." 

"  But,  Albert,  you're  not  twenty  years  old." 

"  Wal,  I'ze  done  been  with  Major  Mac  all  my  life.  Some- 
times down  in  Virgin,  and  sometimes  up  at  the  Patterson  track 
— then  over  to  Nashville  and  Memphis." 

Like  Artenms  Ward,  whose  daughter  had  been  singing  the 
"  Mocking  Bird  "  for  three  weeks,  Albert  thought  he  should  like 
it — living  with  the  Major. 


To-day;  tl^e  great  race  was  lun  The  gicat  l^otcf^  ait  full,  and 
they  poured  out  to  the  track  a  seething  croutjV-fijling  Lake 
Avenue- Vdth  dust  and  the  grand  stand  with:  ^  enthusiastic 
multitude.  ^ 

The  oldUvhtte-^ftakjed  wizzard  of  Kentucky  was  on  the  track 
with  j^"igfell9\Vx  A'^e^^^^orse  was  as  tranquil  as  afi  ex-dray 
horsfi— iifit^ranci^mg^  no  kicking,  no  biting.  Old  John  saj^s.  the 
litt/e- rtlggfi^^i  pltiyr  about  hii^  down  in  Kentucky,  and  tha|  he 
ra^i^es  fes^'feet  as  caref|a}ly  as  aivelephant  when  the  little  rascals 


mi 


)>i>. 


iins%n^%=^W^jiglT-'fl3^  o'fe^  of  mettle,  and  with 

eyes  r^"^a^^"^«,nappi;lg  with  passion.  He  is  full  of  muscle  and 
as  beautilSiir.a^si--^^  horse!  To-day  these  two  kings  of  the  turf 
come  togeth^r^r  the  fiit;^t  time — Belmont  with  his  silver  feather 
and  the  silver^^^ed  Jiorne-spun  farmer  of  Kentucky  !  What  a 
race  !     Distance  two  a!nd  a  quarter  miles.     Thousands  of  dollars 


14 


/l^ 


/ 

changed  hands.     Harper  was  offered  $60,000  for  Longfellow  at 

the  Branch,  and  he  said  if  his  pet  should  loose  the  Saratoga  cup 

he  would   lead    from  the   track  a  ruined    horse.     Jake  bobbed 

around  proudly  on  the  back  of  Kingfisher,  and  Bob  Swim  sat 

grimly  on  the  back  of  Longfellow. 

The  race  started. 

Belmont  was  on  the  grand  stand,  dressed  in  a  white  hat  and 
silver  feather,  and  old  John  Harper  upon  tli^  ground,  dressed  in 
an  old  slouch  hat  and  a  suit  of  home-spun.  Pell-mell  they  went 
as  the  M'hite  flag  dropped,  "  Longfellow  moving  with  long, 
regular  strides,  with  clumsy  head  stuck  straightforward.  King- 
fisher started  with  a  quick,  nervous  movement,  making  six 
movements  to  Longfellow's  five.  Straight  as  an  arrow  Bob 
Swim  reined  Longfellow  across  Kingfisher's  advance  to  his  ac- 
customed inside  track,  taking  the  lead.  There  he  kept  it,  dead 
to  the  applause  of  ten  thousand  spectators.  That  first  quarter 
was  his  salvation. 

"  I  told  Bob,"  sagely  observed  old  Harper.  "  that  Longfellow 
would  run  the  first  quarter  faster  than  any  horse  ever  did  it 
before. 

"  How  after  that  ? "  we  asked. 

"  Why,  he'll  keep  on  gettin'  better  an'  better  all  the  time  !" 

And  so  he  did.  The  second  mile  was  done  in  1 40 — time  only 
equalled  by  Gladiator  and  Prioress,  and  that  on  English  turfo 
On  they  ran,  the  vast  crowd  shouting  lustily,  as  now  and  then 
the  "  Fisher  "  closed  the  gap  a  little.  Belmont  stood  up  and 
leaned  forward,  surveying  the  field  as  a  General  would  survey  a 
battle-field,  while  the  little  gray-haired  stooping  Harper  looked 
on  like  a  stoic,  his  sharp  gray  eyes  only  twinkling  as  Bob  shot  in 
to  the  victory.    . 

The  old  Kentucky  farmer  took  his  eighty  thousand  dollars  as 
quietly  as  you  would  buy  a  morning  newspaper,  while  the  great 
swaying  masses  shrieked  and  waved  their  handkerchiefs  like  a 
great  sea  of  humanity  covered  with  fluttering  sails. 

7iN  —  ^'iv 


\ 


Mrs.  B 


will    UQt'  &hii^ 


V>ld  habiinee  of  Saratoga,  is  a  Hig-h 
icl  e\)!tsequjjTi1;|^'^on't  bet  at  f^^^|;es.  She 
a  .dozen  gloves  when  the  f*^|tts^  are 
ncck^'ariS  liefr^/lind  .when  tjio.usands  of  ladies  are  ^t%^ng  up 
and  waving  their  handkcrt^hi^if?  in  wild  ei|ithusTasm;': /To-day, 
when  eyery^o9y^^a^i^stx^pttWgJ''Wii^,:0  Long- 

fcUcjw,   Mrs/l^-—  puU^-  oufc^^t-'S^^^J/^rtd  itie^^^^^ 
"  fo  please  not  bet." 

"Why,   Mrs.    B !    a    Christian    can't    help    bef  ting  ^^/^ic. 

There's  D,.  Corey — yes,  and  your  own  Dr.  Hepworili^fe^kless- 
!y  hazarding  dozens  of  gloves  thil^/rnoment !"  / 

"  My  old  minister  betting!"  exclaimed   Mrs.  H^ 


— ,      impos- 
sible !     /'//  bet  you  a  dozen  gloves  he  hasn't  bet  to-day  ./" 

Mrs.  Ida ',  (there  !  I've  almost  told  her  name)  is  afraid  the 

Boston  people  will  hear  of  her  watering-place  worldliness,  and  so 
we  all  promised  not  to  say  a  word  about  it. 


i6 


My  dear  friend  Artemus !  I  have  a  thousand  things  to  say 
about  you,  but  only  room  for  a  few. 

Once  we  traveled  together  down  the  Mississippi — in  1863. 
His  trunks  were  labelled  thus  : 


A.  V/ARD 

HYS 

Business  Suite 


A.  WARD 
HYS  STORE  CLOTHES 


A.    WARD 

Hys  Sunday 
Cloth KS 


The  steamer  stopped  at  the  writer's  plantation  at  Lake  Provi- 
dence. He  took  especial  delight  in  the  good-natured  plantation 
darkies.  Strolling  through  the  "  quarters,"  his  grave  words,  too 
deep  with  humor  for  darky  comprehension,  gained  their  entire 
confidence. 

One  day  he  callcii  up  Uncle  Jeff,  an  Unclc-Tom-like  pa- 
triarch, and  commenced  in  his  usual  vein:  "Now,  Uncle  Jef- 
ferson," he  said,  "  why  do  you  thus  pursue  the  habit  of  indus- 
try ?  Indolence  is  preferable.  I  prefer  it.  I  am  happier  when 
I  am  idle  Why  cannot  you  pursue  a  life  of  happy  idleness  too  ? 
Why,  Jefferson,  you  could  live  for  months  without  performing 
any  kind  of  labor,  and  at  the  expiration  of  that  time  .still  feel 
fresh  and  vigorous  enough  to  commence  it  again.  Idleness  in- 
vigorates the  system  ;  it  is  a  sv/ect  boon.  No  one  should  work  ; 
they  should  get  other  people  to  do  it  for  them." 


^y 


17 


/|N 


n'/ 


—  •  — 


Burin-:  this  conversation  Uncle  Jeft'  returned  his  mournful 
f'aze  with  a  mute  admiration  for  the  good  and  wise  originator  of 
the  only  theory  which  the  darkey  mind  could  a; .predate.  "  You 
is  jes'  right,  Mr.  Artemus,"  ejaculated  Jeff,  when  the  mournful 
humorist""  handed  him  a  dollar  and  waved  him  away.  As  Uncle 
Jcti"  ran  to  tell  his  wonderful  story  to  the  iiegroes  in  the  "quar- 
ters," holding  up  the  dollar  as  material  proof,  Artemus  would 
lean  fonvard  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  indulge  in  a 
chuckling  laugh. 

One  day  the  negroes  were  grinding  their  hoes  on  an  old, 
dilapidated  grindstone,  which  wabbled  and  swayed  up  and  down, 

being  worn  by  time  and  hard  usage 
to  an  eccentric  ellipse.  When  the 
eyes  of  Artemus  sighted  the  rickety 
grindstone, he  settled  intua  longand 
hearty  laugh.  Then,  tired  of  laugh- 
ing, he  cased  himself  dow-n 
upon  his  elbows,  but  did  not 
cease  his  intermittent  ciiuck- 
ling.  "There!"  he  gasped, 
as  he  wabbled  his  hand 
and  arm  in  the  curves  of 
a  parabola  ;  "there  is  wit 
personified,  or  thingified. 
When  you  can  surprise  any  one  with  an  eccentric  anti-climax 
instead'  of  a  rounded  sentence,  then  you  will  have  something 
funny. ' 

"  People  laugh  at  me,"  the  humorist  once  said  to  me,  "because 
of  my  eccentric  sentences.  There  is  no  wit  in  the  form  of  a  well- 
rounded  sentence.  If  I  say  Alexander  conquered  the  w^orld  and 
sighed  btxause  he  could  not  do  so  some  more,  there  is  a  funny 
mi.xture,  that  is,  it  is  funny  to  those  intelligent  enough  to  under- 
stand the  original  sentence,  which  is  burlesqued." 

Here  is  the  true  key  to  Artemus  Ward's  power  as  a  humorist, 
and  It  will  be  found  that  the  great  majority  of  his  jokes  depend 
upon  a  sudden  switch  off  from  a  serious  beginning  to  an  absurd 
ending.  While  at  Natchez  he  sent  the  writer  a  ticket  to  his 
lecture  which  read  thus  : 


ADMIT  THE  BEARER 

AND   ONE  WIFE 

yours  trooly 
a.  Ward. 


/|^ 


i8 


^1^ 


/ 


\ 


TRAVERS  S  JOKE. 

Mr.  Traverse  tells  this  juke  on  himself  to-day: 
You  know  .Mr.  T.  starnnK.'rs  enoucjh  to  make  the 
story  interesting.  Well  he  went  into  a  bird-fancier's 
in  Centre  street,  in  \ew  York,  to  buy  a  parrot. 

"  H — h — have  j-ou  i^ot  i\ — a — all  kinds  of  b— 
b— birds  ?"  asked  Mr.  T. 

"  Yes,  sir,  all  kinds,"  said  the  bird-fancier  politely. 

*'  I  w — w — want  to  b — buy  a  p — p — parrot,"  hesitated  Mr,  T. 

"  Well,  here  is  a  beauty,     v'^ec  what  glitterinj^-  plumage  !' 

"  I — i — is  he  a  g — g — good  t — talker  ^" 

"  If  he  can't  talk  better  than  you  can  I'll  give  him  to  you." 
exclaimed  the  shopkeeper. 

William  bought  the  parrot. 

PHILOSOPHY 

The  races  to-day  were  not  quite  so  exciting  as  ye.sterday,  wheri 
the  contest  lay  between  Kingfisher  and  Longfellow,  but  there 
was  an  element  of  interest  in  the  fact  that  the  ex-honorable  John 
Morressey,  with  bucket  and  blanket  in  hand,  has  attended  per- 
sonally to  the  training  of  his  own  horse  Defender.  The  profes- 
sionals have  made  all  sorts  of  fun  of  him,  but  John  has  borne 
their  railleries  in  good  part— always  good-natured,  always  ready 
with  a  joke. 

To-day  Marvin  came  along,  when  John  shouted  :  "  Hellow, 
going  to  bet  on  my  horse,  Marvin  .'" 

"  Yes." 

''  How  ?" 

"  Going  to  copper  him  /"*  And  then  everybody  shouted,  John 
with  the  rest. 

Marvin  was  right,  as  it  turned  out,  for  Defender  was  no  where 
when  the  race  was  finally  run  ;  and  now  they  will  make  more 
fun  than  ever  of  the  ex-Congressman. 


•  To  "  copper  "  a  card  at  faro  is  to  bet  that  it  will  lose. 


19 


CONGRESS   SPRING. 

SARATOGA. 

Congress  Hall,  July  i6. 

Mr,  Marvin  is  a  man  of  fame,  name  and  learning,  and  an  old 
lh;c-hol(ic:r  in  Saratoga,  so  to-day  I  asked  him  something  about 
the  village, 

•Said  he  :  "  I  came  here  in  1828.  Then  High  Rock  Spring 
was  the  great  spring.  Sir  William  Johnson  made  the  first 
pilgrimage  to  the  spring  through  the  woods,  piloted  by  the 
Indians,  to  use  its  water.  This  was  one  hundred  and  five  years 
ago — m  i/C?. 

"  Hold  on.  Mr.  Marvin,  are  you  going  into  all  the  statistics  ?"  1 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied. 

"Let  inecal!  my  old  "statician'"  then  to  assist  you."  So  my 
venerable  .statistical  friend  came  and  wrote  down,  in  the  presence 
of  Mr.  Marvin  : 

TIIK   STATISTICS  OF  SARATOGA. 

"Let  me  see,  VVm. — Sir  William  John- 
son  wounded    in    the   battle   of  Lake 

George,  September  8,  1755,"  the  old  stati- 
cian  murmured. 

"  What  else  ?"  I  inquired. 

'•  V\'  yunderi  in  the  Ic^,"  he  contiuued. 
'■  \m  not  extractcd-did  not  recover.     Dy-         „,  ^,„  ,,^„„,,, 


20 


/t\ 


senter}%  sickness  and  lameness  set  in.  Mohawk  Indians  told  Sir 
William  about  Saratoy;a — the  "  Medicine  Spring-  of  the  Great 
Spirit."  There  were  then  si.K  nations  of  Indians  forming-  the 
Great  In)quois  Confederacy — the  Mohawks,  Cayugas,  Onunda- 
gas,  Senecas,  Oneidas,  and  Tviscaroras. 

"  Sir  William  reached  High  Rock  Spring  August  22nd,  17C>-. 
He  went  with  the  Indians  to  Schenectady  by  canoe  on  ihc 
Mohawk  River,  tlien  by  Htter  z'iei  BalFston  Lake  to  the  rude 
cabin  of  Michael  McDonald,  thence  to  High  Rock  Spring. 

"  The  sun  was  an  hour  above  the  eastern  hills,"  continued  m}' 
statician,  reading  from  a  book,  "  when  the  startle(1  deer  saw  the 
evergreens  sway,  and  the  Baronet's  party 
emerge  from  the  thicket.     Their  polished 
bracelets    a  n  d 
rich    trappings, 
glittering  in  the 
dewy    foliage 
like    so     many 
diamonds,  were 
in  keeping  with 
the  cheerfulness 
visible     upon 
each    counte- 
nance— for  were 
they  not  bearing 
their   dearly 
loved  brother  to 
the  '  Medicine  '^^^'  ^^^^^^^-^  and  liim  mmANe. 

Spring  of  the  Great  Spirit.^'  As  the  party  emerge  from  the  glade 
upon  the  green  sward,  they  separate  into  two  divisions  ;  and,  v/ith 
gentle  tread  appr'.)ach  the  spring,  bearing  their  precious  burden 
in  the  center.  Pausing  a  few  rods  from  the  spring,  the  Baronet 
leaves  the  litter  ;  and,  for  a  moment,  his  manh'  form,  wrapped  in 
his  scarlet  blanket  bordered  with  gold  lace,  stands  tov/ering  and 
erect  above  the  waving  plumes  of  his  Mohawk  braves." 

"  How  do  you  know  these  to  be  facts,  my  venerable  friend  ?'" 

"  Well,  the  book  says  so,  sir ;  besides  Wm.  L.  Stone  delivered 
these  facts  in  an  address  in  1866,"  said  n.iy  statician  indignantly. 

"  They  are  correct,"  observed  Mr.  Marvin. 

"Very  well  go  on  I" 

"  Then,"  continued  the  old  man,  "  Sir  William  approaching  tiie 
spring,  kneels,  with  uncovered  head,  and  revereiitly  places  upon 
the  rock  a  roll  of  fragrant  tobacco — his  propitiatory  offering  to 
the  Manitou  of  the  spring.     Still   kneeling,  he   fills  arid  lights 


•T 


21 


/(\ 


the  ^Tcat  calumet,  which,  th-ouc^^h  a  Ion-  hue  of  kim^s.  had 
desc'lKlod  to  the  renowned  Pontiac.  and,  takm-  a  whiff  trom  its 
hiero-Kphic  >tem,  passes  it  to  each  cliieltain  in  turn.  Then, 
amid' the  profound  silence  of  his  warriors,  he,  for  the  first  time, 
touches  his  lips  to  the  water  ;  and.  -athenn.cr  the  folds  of  his 
mantle  about  him  amid  a  wild  and  .strange  chant  raused  by  the 
Indians  to  ihen-  Deity,  he  enters  the  rude  bark  lodge  which,  with 
prudent  forcthou-lU,  his  braves  had  erected  for  his  comfort 
direct!)  where  this  building  now  stands  ;  and  in  this  primitive^ 
hotel  reclined  \.\\c  first  white  man  that  had  e\'er  visited  this  spring." 
"  Mow  long  did  he  stay,  what  hotel  did  he  put  up  at,  and 
where  was  W'm.  Leland  and  Col.  Johnson  then.?"  I  asked,  inter- 
rupting the  old  man.  ,      ,     , 

..  Sii- '"    he  exclaimed,"  \Vm.  Leland  was  dead  then.      He 

was  not  discovered  till  fifty  years  afterwards.  This  was  even 
before  Fernando  Wood  or  Mr.  Greeley  or  Peter  Gilsey  were 
discovered.  Sir.  William  sojourned  four  days  at  High  Rock 
Spring,  then  went  back  to  Schenectady  on  foot,  and  General. 
Phili)rSchu\lcr  sent  up  Dr.  Stringer  to  analyse  the  spring. 
E.\KLV  SETTLEMENT 
"In  the  year  1687."  continued  my  venerable  friend,  "the 
French  in  Canada  had  seven  hundred  Indian  warriors  for  the 
purpose  of  instructing  them  in  religion  and  to  Jiclp  them  kill  the 
liii'^lish !  So  Governor  Dongan.  to  get  these  Indians  away 
from  the  F'rench.  gave  them  the  land  about  Saratoga  This  was 
not  a  very  generous  act  when  we  come  to  consider  that  the  land 
belonged  to  a  gentleman  in  Albany.  The  Indians  kept  the  land 
till  1742.  when  Father  Picciuei.  a  l-'rench  priest,  with  some  French 
truo^js,  gobbled  up  the  Indians  and  stole  Uieir  corn  and  cattle. 
The  French  fought  better  then  than  they  do  now-a-days,  or  else 
there  were  not  any  Prussian  Uhlans  around.  The  F^rench  burnt 
up  the  Indian  huts  and  raised  the  ilevil  generally.  .Peace  came 
between  the  FVench  and  English,  and  the  F'rcnch  priest  had  to 
leave  in  1748.  Then  the  Sovereign  of  Great  Britain  gave  away 
the  Van  Schaick  patent,  which  included  Saratoga.  In  1783 
Albany  County  was  organized,  including  Stillwater,  Saratoga, 
and  Hallston.  In  1791  Saratoga  was  taken  from  Albany  County 
and  divided  into  twenty  townships,  viz  :  Kallston,  Halfmoon, 
Saratoga.  Stillwater,  Charlton,  Galway,  Milton,  Greenfield,  Provi- 
dence. Northumberland,  Edinburgh,  Hadley,  Malta,  Moreau, 
Waterford,  Corinth,  Wilton,  Saratoga  Springs,  and  Clifton  Park. 

(,R(nVTH    OF    S.VRATOGA. 

\\\  T773  Dirick  Scowton  cleared  a  piece  of  land  about  High 


\l/  \l/ 

Rock  Spring  and  bulk  a  cabin.  In  1774  John  Arnold  brought 
his  furniture  on  his  back  from  Saratoga  Lake  and  built  a  tavern 
near  High  Rock.  High  Rock  Spring  had  various  owners  after 
this — Samuel  Norton,  Isaac  Law,  Rip  Van  Dam,  Henry  Living- 
stone, and  (during  the  Revolution)  Alexander  Bryan. 

"Gideon  Putnam  arrived  at  Saratoga  in  1789.  He  seems  to 
have  been  the  great  founder  of  Saratoga.  He  said  to  his  wife  : 
Saratoga  is  a  healthy  place  ;  the  mineral  springs  are  valuable, 
the  timber  is  good  and  in  great  abundance,  and  I  can  build  me 
a  great  house. 

"  In  1802  Putnam  purchased  of  Henry  Walton  an  acre  of  land 
where  the  Grand  Union  now  stands,  and  built  seventy  feet  of  the 
present  hotel.  This  was  a  great  house  in  those  days,  and  the 
wonder  of  the  country.  His  sign  was  a  rudely  painted  representa- 
tion of  Putnam  and  the  wolf 

"  In  1806  Putnam  tubed  Washington  spring,  and  afterwards  the 
Columbian. 

Visitors  now  began  to  come  to  Saratoga.  Many  came  up 
from  Ballston  in  stages,  took  dinner  with  Putnam,  and  returned. 

"In  181 1  Putnam  began  the  erection  of  Congress  Halh  He 
fell  from  the  scaffolding  and  died  a  year  afterwards  from  the 
effect  of  his  injuries.  He  ranks  with  John  Rodgers,  Miles  Stan- 
dish,  and  Daniel  Boon— a  great  pioneer  and  a  great  man.  Con- 
gress Hall  was  finished  in  1815,  became  the  property  of  Mr  Van 
Scoonhoven,  who  kept  it  until  1822,  when  the  company  was 
extended  by  taking  in  Samuel  H.  Drake,  John  E.  Beekman,  and 
John  McDougall  Lawrence. 

In  1855  Henry  H.  Hathorn  and  Harvey  P.  Hall  purchased 
the  property  of  Z.  V.  Kingsley,  of  West  Point.  Hathc»rn  and  1  fall 
made  great  improvements  in  the  hotel,  but  on  the  evening  of  the 
29th  of  May,  1 866,  the  building  took  fire  and  burned  to  the  ground. 
It  was  rebuilt  in  1868  on  a  still  grander  scale,  and  is  now  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  hotels  in  America.  Mr.  H.  H.  Hathorn  is 
still  at  its  head." 

THE   OLD    UNITED    STATES. 

"  What  has  been  your  experience  in  Saratoga  .''  "  I  asked  of 
Mr.  Marvin  as  my  old  statician  ended. 

"  For  twenty-six  years  I  owned  the  old  United  States  Hotel," 
continued  Mr.  Marvin,  "  one  of  the  best  hotels  Saratoga  e\er 
had.  The  United  States  was  commenced  in  1823  by  John  hord 
and  finished  by  Lewis  Benedict.  I  bought  it  in  1825.  It  covered 
six  acres  of  ground  and  rec}uircd  an  acre  and  a  half  of  roof  to 
cover  the  buildings.  This  magnificent  hotel  together  with  the 
Marvin  House  was  burned  to  the  ground  June  i8th,  1865.  Since 


\ 


^\-  23  /,N 


—  •  — 


—  •  — 


tii.it  time  the  ruins  have  been  seen  by  every  one. 
THE  RACE  TRACK. 
•'  Property  has  never  seen  a  decline  in  Saratoga — even  during 
the  dark  days  of  '}6  and  'sj,  when  everything  seemed  smashing 
up,"  continued  Mr.  Marvin.  "  Even  the  land  we  purchased  for 
the  race-track  has  advanced  wonderfully  in  value.  We  could 
now  sell  that  125  acres  and  double  our  money.  So  you  see  the 
Saratoga  Race  Track  Association  will  always  be  solvent.  The 
land  originally  cost  us  about  $100  per  acre.  It  is  worth  $3CX) 
now.  Our  dividends  have  been  usually  expended  in  improve- 
ments. Once  we  divided  a  10  per  cent,  dividend,  afterward  a  17 
per  cent,  dividend.  When  I  first  showed  old  John  Harper  the 
track  he  exclaimed,  '  That  is  the  best  track  in  the  world !  and 
Joiin  was  right.  We  can  stable  in  our  own  buildings  150  horses. 
Besides  the  big  track  we  have  a  small  one  for  training." 
CONGRE.SS   SPRING. 

My  statician  followed  wath  his  statistics  : — 

'•  Twenty-five  years  after  Sir  Wm.  Johnson  visited  High  Rock 
Spring,  Ct'ngressnian  John  Taylor  Oilman  was  one  of  a  hunting 
party  to  visit  the  spring  which  be  named  "  Congress  Spring. " 
The  spring  trickled  from  a  ledge  of  rocks  which  coursed  from 
the  Columbian  Spring  towards  where  is  now  Morrissey's  gambling 
house.  Gideon  Putnam  tubed  it  though  it  belonged  to  the 
Livingstone.  They  aitcrvvard  sold  it  to  John  Clarke,  an  English- 
man, with  the  farm  around  it.  Mr.  Clarke  built  the  Doric 
structure  over  Congress  Spring  and  the  Grecian  dome  over 
Columbian  Spring.    ^SE  OF  THE  WATERS. 

'"The  Hathorn  water  is  a  powerful  cathartic — 33  1-3  per  cent, 
stronger  than  Congress  water.  The  Pavilion  water  is  used  for 
rheumatism,  indigestion,  kidney  complaints,  and  is  a  cathartic. 
Congress  water  for  dyspepsia,  gout,  and  cutaneous  diseases. 
The  Plmpire  water  for  bilious  disorders,  rheumatic,  and  scro- 
fulous affections.  The  Columbian  water  for  strengthening  the 
stomach,  and  for  increasing  the  red  particles  in  the  blood.  The 
Geyser  is  a  powerful  cathartic. 

now  TO  DRINK  THE  WATERS. 

'•  The  general  visitor  should,  in  the  absence  of  specific  advice, 
drink  a  cathartic  water  like  Hathorn,  Congress,  or  Pavilion 
before  breakfast,  say  from  two  to  five  tumblers.  At  ten  A.  M. 
drink  one  tumbler  of  iron  water — Columbian.  At  six  drink 
one  and  a  half  tumblers  from,  the  Washington  Spring,  in  the 
Clarendon  {grounds. 


24 


\i/ 


\\y 


ANALYSIS   OF   SPRINGS    IN    A    NUTSHELL. 

"  I  make  the  following  tabular  analysis  for  the  benefit  of  the 
thousands  who  desire  it  in  a  compact  form.  To  make  this  table 
I  have  searched  in  old  books,  pamphlets  and  ncwsjmpcrs,  and 
expended  much  labor.  The  figures  in  the  table  denote  the 
number  of  grains  of  each  chemical  and  the  base  line  the  solid 
contents  in  grains.  The  reader  will  now  see  the  relative  strength 
of  the  different  springs.  The  Geyser  is  the  strongest  water,  the 
solid  contents  being  991.546  grains.  The  Hathorn  stands  888.406 
and  the  Pavilion  687.275. 

TABLE. 


Chloride  of  Sodium 

Hydriodate  of  Soda 

Bi-carbonate  of  Soda 

Bi -carbonate  of  Magnesia. 

Carbonate  of  Lime    , 

Carbonate  of  Iron 

Bi-carbonate  of  Lime 

Bi-carbonate  of  Iron 

Silex 

Cloride  of  Potassium 

Bromide  of  Sodium.. 

Iodide  of  Sodium 

Bi-carbonate  of  Lithia-   ■ 
Bi-carbonate  of  Strunthia 
Bi-earbonate  of  Barjta. . 
Sulphate  of  Potassa. ..... 

Alumina...  -. 

Per  gal.  solid  contents  — 


grams,   grains. 


385. 
3. 


000! 

,500 


95.788 

98.098 

.075 


1.500 


509.968 

42'.8i8 

176.463 

176.646 

1.128 


1.260 

9.597 

1..534! 

.198 

11.447! 

L737I 
. . .  .1 
.1311 


grains. 


134.291 

29".428 

40.339 

89.869 

1.70S 


2.561 

1.335 

.ti30 

.031 

.899 


grains,   grains,   grains,  i  gram 


.557 
.374 


597.943'  888.4061  302.017 


362.080: 


71.232 
149.3431 


178.392 

.979; 

.6(55; 

24.634 

2.212 

.248; 
7.U04' 

.42"}, 
2.914' 

.318; 


267.000 

2.5(i0 

15.4110 

46.710 

68.0(0 

6.580 


2.050 


269.696 
12.000 
30.848 
41.984 


141.824 


4-J0.9U3 


3.764 
76.267 


120.109 
2.570 
3.155 
7.6i;0 
.987 
.071 
9.486 

.875 

2.032 

.329 


991.546    407.300;  496.3521  687.275 


Besides   these    springs    there   are   the   Saratoga  A,   Eureka, 
Reed's,  Hamilton,  Putnam  Iodine  and  Washington. 

REFLECTION. 
Thus  ended  my  statician  and  I  drew  a  long  breath.  Said  I, 
no  one  will  ever  read  what  you  have  said.  The  world  hates 
statistics.  I  wrote  a  book  once — "  The  Franco-Prussian  War  " — 
it  was  a  better  book  than  I  ever  expect  to  write  again  ;  but 
statistics  killed  it.  Carleton  says  "  people  were  frightened  at 
my  array  of  figures  and  fled  from.it  in  dismay."  The  book  ought 
to  have  sold  50,000  copies  and  made  me  a  fortune,  but,  as  it  was. 
I  only  made  a  little  money  and  some  glory.  Few  people  laugh 
at  the  multiplication  table.  Horace  Greeley  is  the  only  man 
who  positively  enjoys  statistics.  So  I  dedicate  all  those  figures 
to  H.  G. 


25 


^1^ 


nI/ 


RACKS-FUN-PKRSONAL. 

Congress  Hall,  July  i8. 

So  the  races  are  ended.  -i        ^^  ,„k;k. 

To-dav  Kingfisher  -allopped  over  the  three-mde  race  while 
old  John  llarp?r  confessed  his  weakness  by  lettnig  Belmont  run 
off  with  the  $  1,000  stakes.  ,  1  ^„    "  .u^ 

The  rich  Belmont  party  now  plume  themselves  on  the 
Fisher  -ves.  more  than  that,  they  "  tassel  out,  laugh,  and 
banter  the  old   Kentucky  wizard  in  ways  too  amusmg  to  write 

about. 

HORSE   T.VLK. 

Meetin-  John   Harper  at  the  track  to-day,   I  told  him  they 
were  betting  that  his  horse  would  never  run  the  four-mile  race 
'"  Tell  th?m  all,"  said  he,  "that  I  shall  snrdy  run  the  ^'ace,  if 
everything  is  right  with  the  hoss,  and  the  track  is  pretty. 

"  Has  Longfellow  ever  run  a  four-mile  race  ? " 

"  No,  but  with  what  bottom  he  has.  I  think  I  can  put  enough 
more  bottom  into  him  to  dust  '  the  Fisher '  in  August." 

Belmont  offered  Harper  $60,000  again  for  Longfellow  yester- 
day if  his  owner  would  throw  in  the  old  mare. 

•''  The  mar  will  never  leave  my  farm  till  I  do — and  then 
dead  !  "  exclamed  the  Kentuckian.  ^ 

Old  John  came  up  to  me  just  as  1  was  writing  the  last 
paragraph,  when  I  asked  him  why  he  did  not  let  Longfellow 
run  yesterday. 

"  Waal,  "  said  the  old  man,  "  I  want  to  keep  him  out  and  get 
him  ready  for  the  great  four-mile  race  with ///d- /^"/.sV/rr,  Helmbold. 
and  the  others  in  August." 

This  reply  is  a  confession  of  weakness  on  the  part  of  old 
John  ;  and  Kingfisher  stock  goes  up  accordingly. 

At  the  last  race,  2i/(  miles,  Uncle  John  told  Bob  Swim,  his 
jockey,  "  to  run  '  old  Long  '  as  far  out  as  he  could,  from  lud  to 
indr 

Longfellow  came  in  tired,  while  Kingfisher  looked  fresh  enough 
for  an  other  mile.  This  is  why  "  old  John  "  feared  the  three- 
mile  race  yesteiday,  and  why  he  ought  to  fear  tlfe  four-mile  race 
in  August. 

Can  old  John  put  bottom  enough  in  his  horse  to  run  with  the 
i    five  year  olds  at  that  great  race  .'' 
I        This  is  the  question  now. 

I        Oysterman    goes   on   winning   every    hurdle    race.     We   arc 
I    getting  sick  of  his  chronic  winning.     We  want  a  new  horse  by 
way  of  variety. 

%  ^         '  T^  \  /IN 


\\^ 


^         i^   * 


JOKK    l.f/. 

A     party    of    Tam- 
manyites    went    down 
to  I  lathorn  Spring  i\\\s 
nioining  to  drink. 
'  How  do  ycHi    likt 
the  v\ater,  Judge  ?  "  asked 
bijT  Judge  Connolly 
'    Horrid  '  said  Bernard. 
ATi^eiable     said  Hank  Smith 
"  Onh   fit  for  jacka'^^ses,    gi.^uleJ  a  halt  dv)zen  others. 
"  Ha\e  some  more,  gentlemen  ?"  innocentl)' asked  the  dip[)ing 
boy. 

Bernard  granted  an  injunction  instantl)-,  and  the  bo\-'s  "  occu- 
pation is  now  gone." 

Joke  2t/i 

"  You  look  like  the  monarch  of  all  you  survey,"  said  Fernando 
Wood  to  John  G.  Saxe  as  he  stood  leaning  over  the  railing  on 
the  grand  stand  yesterday 

"  No,  I  only  have  a  lean  on  the  property,"  said  Saxe. 

Joke  3///.  (still  worse.) 

The  Poet  was  sitting  with  his  genial  wife  and  a  party  of  ladies 
in  the  parlors  at  Congress  Hall,  one  day. 

"  You  seem  to  be  quite  a  lion  this  morning,  Mr.  Saxe.'  said 
Mrs.  Lewis. 

"  I  think  he's  a  bear"  said  Mrs.  Saxe  with  a  smile. 

"  I  know  what's  a —  bruin  now, '  rejoined  the  Poet. 


^1^ 


27 


^1^ 


_)/ ^ c 

THE  ROUND  LAKE  CAMP-MEETING 
closed  on  Friday.  During  the  meeting  they  had  the  three 
episodes  of  humanity— a  birth,  a  marriage,  and  a  death  One 
hundred  souls  wandering  at  large  were  gathered  mto  the  Me- 
thodist fold.  There  is  certainly  a  strange  power  developed  m 
these  meetings. 

The  meeting  closed  with  these  three  exhortations  from  Klder 

Inskip  : 

"  Glory  to  the  God  of  America  !  "       ^^ 

"  Glory  to  the  God  of  the  Republic  !  " 

"  Glory  to  the  God  of  the  Stars  and  Stripes  !  " 

FUNNY. 

We  see  funny  things  in  Saratoga.  Within  the  last  week  many 
inanimate  objects  have  been  seen  in  full  motion.  We  have  seen 
a  Saratoga  /top,  a  watch  spring,  a  note  run,  a  rope  icalk,  a  horse 
fly  (that\vas  Longfellow),  and  Southgate  says  he  saw  the  big 
elms  leave  last  spring.  John  Cecil  says  they  wanted  to  go  and 
see  the  Pacific  .i7<'/<:- and  the  Third  Avenue  Bank  run.  The  Rev. 
George  Knowlton  says  it  is  a  common  thing  to  hear  a  locust  (low 
kuss)  sing — down  on  Broad  St.  when  stocks  are  up.  Col.  Hey  wood 
carries  a  pair  of  door  hinges  constantly  in  his  pocket.  He  says 
they  are  something  to  a  door,  like  the  ladies. 
\vHO  IS  HERE  }  (Personal.) 

I  note  the  following  habitues  of  Saratoga  here  to-day  : 
Senator  Robert.son,  who  .stood  boldly  for  the  Union  in  the 
dark  days  when  his  State  w^ent  over  to  Davis  and  secession  ;  Prof. 
Chandler,  who  has  analysed  many  of  the  springs  here;  George  W. 
McCullum  of  the  5th  Avenue  Hotel,  who  has  just  founded  a 
college  at  Mount  Vernon,  his  native  town  in  New  Hampshire, 
endowing  it  with  $50,000  ;  Mr.  E.  A.  Hammond  the  Sth  Avenue 
)niilionairc\  whose  beautiful  park  equipage  is  the  admiration  of 
Saratoga,  and  Sidney  W.  Cooper,  the  young  New  York 
barri.ster. — fresh  from  the  laurels  of  a  college  poem  at  Williams. 

Hon.  William  Wall  of  5th  Avenue,  and  Charles  Wall  of  Park 
Avenue,  are  here,  also  General  Stahl,  who  closed  in  with  the 
cavalry  at  Gettysburg,  and  C.  W.  Durant,  Peter  Moller,  Col.  J. 
A.  Bridgeland,  the  friend  of  Gov.  Morton;  F.  S.  Davis,  President 
of  a  Bank  and  a  Rail  Road,  The  chesterfieldian  Judge  Moseley, 
N.  H.  Decker  of  5th  Avenue,  the  genial  Judge  John  Fitch,  and 
these  kings  of  the  turf:  Hunter,  Travers,  Sanford,  Morris, 
Cameron,  Dennison,  McDaniels,  Waeatley,  McGrath,  and 
ik-lmont.  Here  too  is  Lord  Willoughby  with  his  silver  beard 
and  benevolent  face,  who  has  a  beautiful  residence  on  Broadway, 


/{^ 


Mrs.  Hicks  of  14th  St.,  the  stylish  cqucstriiiinc  of  Ctntra!  Park. 
Mrs.  Shoemaker //r?  Marvin,  of  Cincinnati;  Mrs.  W.  S.  Groesbeck, 
Mrs.  John  Shilito,  Mr.  Larz  Anderson,  son-in-law  of  old 
Nicholas  Longuorth,  the  Daniel  Boone  of  Cincinnati,  J.  C. 
Baldwin  and  Mi.ss  Emily  Baldwin  of  5th  Avenue,  Reuben 
Springier  and  Henry  Probasco,  who  own  the  beautiful  Art 
Galleries  of  Cincinnati,  which  rank  v.ith  the  galleries  of  Belmont ; 
Blodi;ett.  Hoey,  Stewart  and  Aspinwall;  Thomas  N.  McCarter  of 
Newark,  and  daui^hters.  and  Col.  M.  J.  O'Brien,  Superintendent 
of  the  Southern  Express  Co.  Among  the  well  known  gentlemen 
here  arc  G.  1).  Pitzipio  with  his  charming  wife.  Col.  Rush 
Hawkins,  D.  E.  I'ettee  and  wife,  S.  Insher  Johnson  and  \Vm. 
H.  C"apman  of  the  5th  Avenue  Hotel  ;  C.  C.  Hastings  and  wife. 
Sanuiel  G.  Gourtney,  ex-U.  S.  Dist.  Attorney,  and  wife  ;  H.  S. 
Clements,  Jefferson  Coddington.  G^rge  Willshire  of  Cincinnati, 
C.  v.  Do  Forest,  Mr.  George  Bissell  of  5th  Avenue,  who  gave 
$50,000  to  Connell  University,  Mr.  S.  W.  Coe  and  wife  of  VVest 
42nd  St.,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  General  Shaler 


<s*- 


S.vUATuGa    Lake    By    MOONLIGHT. 
30 


—  •  ■  — 

/ 


\ 


'^  M^!»UmAfiiif' 


'-^ 


'r\ 


Miss  Clara  Bowers  says 
co-day  that  she  hopes  to 
fall  in  love  with  a  bald- 
headed  man.  She  says 
such  a  head  would  be  such 
a  nice  place  to  draw  mono- 
grams on,  and  then  ii 
would  make  a  nice  globe 

on  which  lo  draw  maps 
for  the  children. 


/»v 


31 


nI/ 


J/ 

•  — 

\ 


*    Congress  Hall,  July  19. 

The  races  have  come  and  gone  ! 
The  cars,  yesterday,  were  full  of 
thoroughbreds  —  both  •  men  and 
horses — bound  for  the  metropolis. 
John  Harper  has  returned  to  the 
•'  bed  and  board  "  of  Longfellow, 
and  Morrissey,  like  the  Arab, 
"hps  folded  his  tent  and  silently 
stole  away  "  to  his  roulette  and 
rouge-et-iioir. 

WHAT  WE   DO  NOW. 
Yesterday  we  w-ent  to  the  races 
-audhct ;     \JM     to-day  Congress  Hall  has  become  a  studious, 
r  c  a  li  i  n  g  ;.  "■/  ji      household. 

"  What  '  .(''^y  are  you  reading .'"  I  asked  of  a  literary  young 
lady  who  "f/^  come  down  with  a  lap  full  of  books  this 
morning. 

"O!  I'v^e.  got   all   the   sensations — here  is  'Dame    Europa's 
School,'  here's  '  The  Battle  of  Dorking,'  here's   '  Ginx's  Baby,' 
here's  '  Milbank,'  here's  'The  Franco- 
Prussian    War' — in  a  nutshell,  and 
here's  '  Bret  Harte's  poems.'  " 

"  WTiich  is  the  best .''" 

•'  Well,  *  Ginx's  Baby '  is  a  very 
pleasant  satire." 

GINX. 

"  Who  is  Ginx  .'" 

"Ginx  was  the  father  of  the  thir- 
teenth baby,  Ginx  was  poor,  and 
becoming  impatient  at  Mrs.  Ginx's 
increasing  babies,  after  she  had  had 
the  twelfth,  declared  that  he  would 
throw  the  thirteenth  olT  of  W^est- 
minstcr  Bridge." 

"  Did  he  do  it  ?" 

"  No,  but  he  discovered  the  infant,  after  Mrs.  Ginx  had  suc- 
ceeded in  hiding  it  away  for  several  days — seized  it  and  started 
for  the  bridge,  and — 

"  Threw  it  in  !" 

"No,  the  police  stopped  him,  Ginx  expostulated,  said  he 
didn't  want  the baby  ;  that  he  had  twelve  already  at  home  ; 


FASHIONABLE   READING. 


'I'v 


12 


that  he  was  a  poor  man,  and  had  no  use  for  the  thirteenth  Ginx. 
Then  a  CathoHc  nun  came  along,  and  offered  to  feed  it  and  save 
its  Hfe." 

"  And  never  brino  it  back  ?"  asked  Ginx. 
"  Never !" 

"  He's  yours — to  have  and  to  hold  !''  And  then  Ginx  ran  back 
to  his  wife  and  wretched  twelve  children,  a  happy  man. 

"  What  then  ?"  But  Bernstein  started  up  Brook's  "  Silver 
Slipper  "  gallop,  the  belles  rushed  to  the  hop-room,  and  I  had  to 
lean  forward  to  catch  the  story. 

"  Then,"  said  she,  whispering  loud,  "  the  tug  commenced.  The 
baby  was  baptized.  Ginx's  wife  had  to  go  and  nurse  the  baby 
twice  a  day.  Father  Cozan  wanted  to — and  did — make  the 
sign  of  the  cross  on  Mrs.  Ginx  before  the  baby  was  allowed  to 
nurse.     Mrs.  Ginx  told  this  to  a  Protestant  friend. 

"  '  Sign  of  the  cross,  Mrs.  Ginx  !  Oh,  horrors — they  are  making 
a  proselyte  of  the  baby — those  atrocious  Catholics  !  "  said  the 
Iriend. 

"  Then  the  Protestant  clergy  got  hold  of  the  scandal.  The 
Protestant  papers  rioted  over  the  matter.  The  clergy  went  to  a 
lawyer.  '  The  Catholics  have  forcibly  distrained  a  Protestant 
baby»  and  are  trying  to  make  a  Catholic  of  him — what  shall  we 
do  } '  they  asked. 

"  '  Bring  an  action,'  said  lawyer  Meddle,  *  an  action  of  habeas 
corpus! 

"  The  case  went 
to  court.  Thou- 
sands of  pounds 
were  spent.  The 
newspapers  talk- 
ed about  the 
'Gin  x's-B  a  b  y 
Case.'     '  Ginx's- 


33 


—  •  — 


Baby  Funds '  were  collected,  the  lawyers  took  the 
vtouty,  and  the  baby  was  surrendered  to  the 
Protestants.  Soon  the  baby  fund  was  exhausted  ; 
its  nurse  in  vain  demanded  pay  for  nursing  him  ; 
and  finally,  one  day,  sh-  left  the  poor  baby  on  a 
club-house  door-step  to  starve  !  Another  humane 
religious  society  took  it  after  the  almshouses  had 
said  they  would  not  have  it.  Another  religious 
controversy  ensued.  The  baby  was  always  poor, 
half-starved,  and  neglected,  while  everybody  was 
fighting  over  his  religion." 

"  What  became  of  him  .'  " 

"  Well,  after  fifteen  years  of  kicks,  of  cold 
neglect,  of  ignorance,  and  starvation — while  all 
the  world  and  the  newspapers  were  talking  about 
how  the  Cariiolics  had  forcibly  distrained  a 
Protestant  child  from  its  doting  parent.s — the 
poor,  neglected,  sorrowful,  ignorant  boy  went,  one 
dark  night,  with  not  even  a  flickering  star  to  see 
his  act, — went  and  jumped " 

"  Off  Westminster  Bridge  .''  " 

"  The  same  ;  and  at  the  very  place  where  the 
policeman  caught  Ginx  fifteen  years  before,  as  he 
held  the  little  innocent  cause  of  all  the  trouble 
over  the  rolling  flood." 


OV  SUCH  IS  THE  KINGDOM  OF  HEAVEN. 


POOK    LITTLE    GINX  !  ! 


'!^ 


34 


/ 


—  •  — — 

\ 


ROBERT    JACKSON. 


THE  BLOOD  OF  HARRY  LEE 

Congress  Hall,  July  20 

Right  here,  while  all  around  is 
fashion  and  frivolity,  I  stop  to  tell 
you  the  story  of  Robert  Jackson, 
our  head -waiter.  The  records  of 
slavery  are  full  of  romantic  incidents, 
full  of  feats  of  love,  full  of  buried 
hopes  and  splendid  triumphs.  Their 
record  is  fast  fading  away,  and  in  a 
quarter  of  a  century  more,  none  will 
believe  the  stories  which  are  now 
told  of  the  Southern  blacks  in  the 
time   of  slavery.      Mrs.    Stowe  has 

left  the  only  great  records  of  the  trials  and  tribulations  of  these 

children  of  bondage. 

THE  STORY — CALHOUN  AND  WEBSTER'S  BIG  HEARTS. 

Year  after  year  Robert  Jackson  has  been  the  second  waiter 
at  the  Grand  Union,  and  now  he  is  head -waiter  at  Congress 
Hall  ;  but  the  careless  crowds  that  frequent  this  mammoth 
hostelry  do  not  know  that  through  his  veins  courses  the  proudest 
Virginia  blood. 

Robert  is  a  small,  well-made  quadroon,  fashioned,  perhaps, 
in  about  the  same  mould  as  Stephen  A.  Douglass,  for  his  head 
closely  resembles  that  of  the  Little  Giant.  His  grandfather  was 
Gen.  Harry  Lee,  of  Revolutionary  light-horse  cavalry  fame,  and 
his  mother  was  a  slave  woman  named  Jenny,  a  maid  of  Mrs. 
Lee.  Soon  after  the  birth  of  William  Jackson,  the  head-waiter's 
father,  Jenny  was  sold  to  Col.  Stewart,  of  Frederick  county, 
Maryland.  The  boy  William  showed  extraordinary  intelligence, 
and  became  the  pet  of  his  master,  and  on  the  death  of  Col. 
Stewart  found  himself  free  by  a  clause  in  the  will.  VVilliam 
went  immediately  to  Washington,  where  he  had  been  many 
times  with  his  master  There  he  met  John  McLean,  Postmas- 
.  ter-General  under  Martin  Van  Buren,  and  a  friend  of  his  old 
master  Judge  McLean  appointed  him  a  messenger  in  the 
Post-office  Department  at  a  salary  of  $600  per  annum. 

While  a  messenger  in  the  Postoffice  Department,  William 
Jackson,  our  head-waiter's  father,  met  a  beautiful  long-haired 
octoroon,  the  slave  of  old  Judge  John  Stewart  of  Baltimore. 
The  slave  girl's  name  was  Rachel,  and  she  came  to  attend  Miss 


^1^ 


35 


/|\ 


/ 


—  •  — 

\ 

Stewart,  one  of  the  fashionable  Baltimore  belles,  at  one  of 
President  Van  Buren's  receptions.  William  lost  his  heart  with 
the  dusky  maid,  and  soon  went  to  Baltimore  to  get  Judge 
Stewart,  who  owned  her,  to  consent  to  their  marriage. 

"  No.  sir,"  said  the  Judge  indignantly,  "  Rachel  is  a  slave,  and 
she  must  marry  a  slave.  If  she  marries  a  free  nigger  she  will 
be  running  away  herself;  and,  besides,  I  don't  know  when  I 
may  want  to  sell  her  to  the  New  Orleans  traders." 

"  Then  I  can  never  marry  her  i"" 

"  Never,  until  somebody  buys  her  from  me,"  replied  the  Judge. 

Rachel  was  sent  to  the  PVederick  county  farm,  and  thither 
William  went  in  the  night  to  hold  a  consultation  with  her. 
First  it  was  resolved  to  run  away.  But  there  was  no  chance  of 
success.  The  Fugitive  Slave  Law  was  in  effect ;  passes  were 
required  by  the  slaves  on  the  plantation,  and  to  run  away  was 
surely  to  be  caught,  returned,  and  then  a  dreadful  whipping 
followed. 

"  What  can  we  do  ?"  sobbed  Rachel. 

"  I  know,"  replied  William,  "  I  will  buy  you  myself." 

"  But  you  have  no  money." 

"  I  can  work  and  earn  it,"  replied  the  determined  lover. 

"  How  much  will  you  take  for  Rachel .-'"  he  asked  of  Judge 
Stewart  the  next  day, 

"  Well,  a  thousand  dollars  will  buy  her,"  replied  the  hard- 
hearted Judge. 

William  went  to  work — every  cent  was  saved,  he  even  going 
on  foot  into  Frederick  county  by  night  to  see  Rachel,  where  they 
held  solemn  consultations  and  hoped  only  for  the  time  when 
he  could  buy  her  and  own  her  and  make  her  his  wife. 

Think  of  that,  mercenary  beaux,  heartless  fortune  hunters  of 
Congress  Hall — think  of  toiling  night  and  day,  and  then  think 
of  paying  your  last  cent  for  the  love  of  a  woman. 

Two  years  rolled  around,  and  nine  hundred  dollars  gladdened 
the  sight  of  William  Jackson. 

Christmas  came. 

"What  shall  I  give  you  for  Christmas  this  year,  William.'" 
asked  the  good  old  Postmaster-General  of  his  trusty  messenger. 

"  Anything,  Mr.  Secretary." 

"  But  what  would  you  like  most  ?" 

Then  William  told  the  story  of  his  and  Rachel's  troubles — 
how  he  was  afraid  she  would  be  sold,  how  he  loved  her  dearly, 
and  how  he  lacked  still  a  hundred  dollars  to  buy  her. 

The  old  Postmaster-General  took  off  his  specs,  wiped  his  eyes, 
then   put   them   on    again.     Then  he   fumbled    in   his  pockets. 

36  >l" 


n'/ nI/ 


/ 


\ 


"Five — ten — twenty — thirty,"  he  counted,  and  then  lie  handed 
WiUiam  a  hundred  dollars. 

Too  happy  to  live,  William  started  for  Judge  Stewart's. 

"  Here,  Master  John,"  said  he,  with  his  eyes  all  aglow  with 
joy,  "here  is  the  thousand  dollars — now  I  want  Rachel." 

"  My  God  !  William,  you  don't  tell  me  so  !"  exclaimed  the 
Judge.  "Why,  I  sold  Rachel  yesterday  for  $1,200,  to  go  to 
Mobile." 

"  When  is  she  going  .-'"  asked  William,  nervously. 

"  She's  gone  already — went  yesterday.  She'd  be  in  Lynch- 
burg in  three  days,  by  the  boat." 

Broken  hearted  and  crushed  in  spirit,  William  hurried  back 
to  Judge  McLean  in  Washington.  The  Judge  heard  his  stoiy. 
Daniel  Webster  and  John  C.  Calhoun  were  in  the  Judge's  room, 
and  they  both  took  a  deep  interest. 

"  Let's  raise  the  money  and  send  William  after  her,"  said  the 
generous  Webster. 

"  He  would  be  seized  a  dozen  times  as  a  fugitive,"  said  the 
Judge,  "  and  they'd  sell  him,  too." 

"  I'll  send  my  private  secretary,"  said  Mr.  Webster,  and  so  he 
did. 

There  was  no  telegraph  then,  nor  cars,  but  the  Secretary  took 
the  Potomac  river  boat,  and  with  $1,200,  partly  contributed  by 
William  Jackson's  friends  in  the  Department,  overtook  Rachel, 
showed  Mr.  Calhoun's  letter,  endorsed  by  several  Virginians, 
bought  her  and  brought  her  back.  Calhoun,  Webster,  and  Judge 
McLean  saw  them  married  the  next  week. 

Their  son,  Robert  Jackson,  afterwards  waited  on  Webster  and 
Calhoun  in  their  old  age  at  the  old  Lidian  Queen  Hotel  in 
Washington,  now  called  the  Metropolitan,  where,  in  1834.  he 
met  Mrs.  Joseph  C.  Luther,  a  present  Jiabituce  of  Congress  Hall, 
on  her  wedding  tour.  Mrs.  Luther  took  Robert  to  Swansea, 
Massachusetts,  instructed  him,  and  a  few  years  afterwards  he 
made  an  engagement  at  the  Union  Hotel.  During  the  winter 
he  catered  for  those  eccentric  bachelors  in  New  York,  Mr.  T.  H. 
Faile,  Mr.  Edward  Penfold,  or  Mr.  Robert  McCrosky.  Only 
the  former  survives.  He  caters  for  New  Yorkers  in  the  winter 
at  206  Waverley  Place.  Robert  has  perhaps  the  largest 
acquaintance  of  any  one  in  Saratoga.  Hjs  knows  old  Presidents 
and  scions  of  royalty,  knows  distinguished  savants,  poets,  states- 
men, and  historians.  He  lives  in  a  beautiful  vine-clad  cottage 
on  Washington  street,  in  Saratoga,  where  the  guests  of  Congress 
Hall  frequently  call  upon  his  wife,  who  is  one  of  the  neatest 
housekeepers  in  Saratoga. 


—  •  ■^ 

/ 


GENERAL  SHERMAN  TALKS. 


Congress  Hall,  July  20. 


General  Sher- 
man, all  sun-burnt 
and  dusty,  and 
fresh  from  the 
plains,  got  in 
unannounced  on 
the  late  train  to- 
night. As  he  came 
up  to  the  Congress 
Hall  office  to  re- 
gister, he  did  look 
like  the  homeliest 
man  (except  Ge- 
neral Spinner)  in 
America.  H  i  s 
straggling  red 
beard  radiated  in 
a  thousand  direc- 
tions, his  soiled 
duster  was  but- 
toned to  his  neck, 
and  his  old  slouch- 
ed army-hat  looked  too  seedy  for  anything.  Marching  straight 
to  the  office,  carrying  his  own  carpet-bag,  he  seized  a  pen  and 
scrawled  : — 

"  Any  room,  sir  ?"  he  asked  of  Southgate,  who,  with  the  rest 
in  the  office,  didn't  recognize  the  General  of  the  United  States 
army. 

"  Got  a  fourth-story  rear,"  said  Southgate.  "  All  right,"  said  the 


/i^ 


38 


^1^ 


—  •  — 


General  smiling  and  dropping  his  bags — when  Fred.  Anderson, 
your  humble,  and  several  others  who  had  recognized  the  General 
stepped  up  to  shake  hands. 

"  What,  General  Sherman!"  exclaimed  the  clerk.  "  Here — 
here,  General,  we've  got  a  ground  floor  front—  Vanderbilt's  room  ;" 
and  Southgate  hu.stled  up  a  half  dozen  porters,  who  besieged  the 
General  with  brush-brooms  and  negro  politeness,  till  he  reached 
his  room. 

I  knew  the  General  in  Memphis  in  war  time,  and  as  he  started 
for  his  room,  "  All  right, "  said  he  ;  "  we'll  have  a  talk  in  the 
morning." 

SHERMAN'S   STORY. 


Once,  while  dining  with  the  General  at  a  little  Italian 
woman's  restaurant  in  Front  street,  in  Memphis,  in  1864,  after 
General  Veatch  and  General  Chetlain — now  our  Consul  at 
Brussels — had  told  several  army  stories,  the  General's  chief  of  staff 
told  the  chicken  story.  Said  he  :  "  While  at  Bowling  Green, 
the  rebel  women  bothered  us  to  death.  It  was  always  the  same 
old  complaint- — '  the  soldiers  have  milked  our  cows,  or  stolen 
our  chickens,  or  busted  into  the  smoke-house.'  Always  the  same 
story  too  all  through  Kentucky  and  Tennessee;  at  Chattanooga 
we  were  bored  to  death  with  these  women." 

One  morning  a  tall  giant  woman 
in  a  faded  sun  bonnet  besieged 
the  General  s  headquarters. 

"  Well,  my  good  lady,  what  can 
I  do  for  you  T  inquired  the  Gene- 
ral as  she  hesitated  at  the  tent 
entrance. 

"  My  Chickens " 

"  Sh !  Madam,"  broke  in  the 

General — "  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  solemnly  that  the  integrity  of 
the  Constitution  and  the  unity  of 
the  Republic  shall  be  maintained 
if  it — takes  every  ehicken  in  Ten- 
-^  „.  ties  see  !  " 

MY  chickens! 


^F 


39 


/|^ 


/ 


July  2 1  St. 

This  morning  I  met  the  General  early,  and  strolled  down  to 
Conj,'ress  Spring,  and  then  around  the  Park.  He  was  vivacious 
and*sparkling  as  Hathorn  water,  and  walked  and  talked  like  a 
boy. 

As  George  Alfred  Townsend  said  of  Miles  O'Rilcy, 
••  there's  a  splendid  boyishness  "  always  about  Sherman.  He  is 
always  ready  with  a  pun,  a  .sarcastic  repartee,  or  a  strong 
thcjught a  very  David  with  the  tongue  and  pen  too. 

"  bo  you  renicmbcr  how  I  managed  those  Charleston  rebels 
when  they  wanted  to  pray  for  Jeff.  Davis  in  the  churches  r  asked 
the  General,  as  we  strolled  along. 

"  No.     How.?"  I  asked. 

"  Why,  I  said,  yes!  pray  away — he  needs  it ! — and  d-n  it  if 
they  didn't  get  mad  and  go  right  away  and  pray  for  Lincoln^ 

"  Been  killing  a  good  many  Injuns  out  We.st,  General  V  I 
asked. 

"  No  ;  the  papers  kill  more  Injuns  than  we  do.  Why,  if  we 
killed  half  as  many  Injuns  as  the  Herald  does,  we'd  be  '  short'  of 
Injuns  f" 

PRESIDENTIAL. 

"  Your  friends  were  a  little  disappointed  when  you  refused  to 
have  your  name  used  Presidentially,"  I  remarked. 

"  No,  not  my  friends.  They  want  me  to  stay  where  I  am. 
General  of  the  army  for  life  is  better  than  President  for  four 
years.  Grant  regrets  that  he  ever  left  the  army  now,  and  so  do 
I.  except  that  he  has  done  a  good  work  as  President." 

"  Do  you  think  it  policy  to  elect  Grant  again .''" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  Why  not  .-•  He  knows  the  ropes  now — he 
has  become  acquainted  with  the  duties — acquainted  with  thou- 
sands of  public  men,  and  ten  thousand  good-for-nothing  White 
House  bummers  who  would  do  nothing  but  harass  a  new 
President  for  the  first  year.  He  has  just  got  where  he  can  te/t  a 
good  man  at  sight.  Humbug  men  always  get  the  best  creden- 
tials ;  every  Congressman  signs  their  recommendation  at  sight, 
and  many  of  them  deceive  a  new  President.  These  party  frauds 
are  now  pretty  much  played  out,  and  Grant  is  enabled  to  deal 
squarely  with  true  men.  Experience  and  acquaintance  is  the 
'stock  in  trade'  of  a  good  President." 

"  Who  will  win  in  72  T 

"  There  is  no  question  in  my  mind,"  said  the  General,  enthu- 
siastically.    "  I'll  bet  on  Grant  against  the  field — two  to  one." 

"  Who  will  run  against  him  .-•" 


—  •  — 


40  ^(^ 


_  t  _— — ■  •  — 

"  There  won't  any  body  na/ ;  but,  not  being  a  politician.  I 
can't  guess  for  a  moment  who  will  be  nominated." 

"  Hancock  ?" 

"  Well,  he  may  be  tempted  to  run.  Hancock,  you  know, 
dislikes  Grant  personally,  and  it  would  be  an  immense  triumph 
for  him  to  get  where  he  could  rank  him.  Grant  never  showed 
any  dislike  to  Hancock.  He  went  more  than  half-way  to 
conciliate  him  a  year  ago  ;  but  there  is  a  clique  in  Washington, 
a  social  clique,  which  manipulates  Hancock  and  keeps  up  the 
feud.     W^omen  have  more  to  do  with  it  than  men." 

EMPEROR  GRANT. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  Ku-Klux  bill  t  " 

"  Good  bill,  sir !  It  has  already  stopped  a  good  many 
outrages.  The  fact  that  the  President  has  power  to  send  troops 
into  any  State  to  quell  disturbances,  in  itself  is  enough  to 
frighten  the  disturbers  of  the  public  peace." 

"  But  John  Quincy  Adams  says  the  bill  '  is  an  absolute 
surrender  of  the  principle  of  free  government — placing  in  the 
President's  hands  the  power,  through  that  and  the  '  Election 
bill,'  to  raise  himself  to  the  Empire.'  " 

"All  stuff!  How  ridiculous  to  talk  about  a  'man  raising 
himself  to  the  Empire '  in  this  country  !  Such  a  man,  after 
declaring  for  the  Empire,  might  hold  a  regiment  of  soldiers  in 
the  White  House  yard  for  just  one  day,  and  then  the  people 
would  put  him  in  the  Potomac  River. 

-:t;^^_^    1--^  "A  set  of  Imperialists 

the  White  House  yard. 
The  silly  French  had  sense  enough  to  shut  up  Napoleon  at 
Strasbourg  and  duck  him  in  the  sea  at  Boulogne  for  just  such 
nonsense." 

"  But  in  '52  he  did  ride  to  the  top,  after  all." 
"  Yes,   but    France  was  not  composed  of  States — sovereign 
States,  as  far  as  each.  State  controlling  its  own  troops — and  every 
Governor,  Democratic  and  Republican,  watehiiig  jealously  his 
own  State  militia." 


"  We  arc  not  France.  Let  some  crazy  President  declare  himself 
Emperor,  and  intrench  himself  in  the  White  House  yard  with 
the  whole  re-ular  army— about  18,000  fightmg  men— around 
him  and  how  long  would  it  take  Governors  Hoffman,  Jewett, 
Randolph.  Geary,  and  Claflin.  and  the  rest,  to  surround  and 
capture  the  whole  concern  ?  Why  !  your  loyal  governors 
backed  by  >'our  grand  old  Goddess  of  Liberty  on  the  dome  of 


—  •  — 
\ 


the  capitol.  and 
forty  millions  of 
people  behind  her. 
w  ould  push  an 
army  of  Imperial- 
ists out  of  sight  of 
the  White  House 
in  forty  minutes." 

"  No.  sir."  said 
the  General  indig- 
nantly ;  "  when  a 
President  declares 
Itnperialism,  every 
Governor  will  have 
to  be  in  the  mess 
too,  and  when  that 
shall  be  the  case, 
the  country  will  be 
too  rotten  to  be 
worth   preserving." 

"Adams  calls 
the  Ku-Klux  bill 
Grant's  negro  poli- 
cy," I  remarked. 


"  All  humbug 
again  !  It  is  simply 
a  law  making  it 
possible  to  arrest 
and  disperse  un- 
lawful gangs  of 
rascals,  black  or 
white,  in  any  of 
the  Southern 
States— to  imprison 
them,  and  try  and 
punish  them.  Grant 
don't  have  any 
negro,  nor  German, 
nor  Irish  policy. 
His  policy  is  to 
protect  all  citizens ; 
remain  at  peace, 
economize  and  try 
and  pay  the  debt. 
All  this  stuff  and 
talk  about  Impe- 
rialism in  America 


is  a  libel  on  the 
good  sense  of  the  people,  and  Adams  ought  to  have  too  much 
good  sense  to  talk  such  foolishness." 

We  now  brought  up  at  Congress  Hall,  and  the  General  went 
in  to  an  early  breakfast.  He  was  surrounded  by  a  charming 
family  of  children,  and  looked  the  picture  of  a  good,  quiet, 
honest,  sensible  citizen,  as  he  is.  Always  radical,  but  pretty  sure 
to  be  right,  the  General  is  a  hater  of  humbugs — a  hater  of  im- 
possible theories — a  hater  of  long,  empty  talkers.  He  puts  more 
sense  into  one  sentence  than  .some  men  will  get  into  ten.  He 
spent  most  of  the  forenoon  talking  with  Mr.  Larz  Anderson, 
brother  of  Major  Anderson,  of  Cincinnati.  General  Sherman 
left  at  three  P.  M.  to-da)-  for  Lake  George  and  the  White 
Mountains. 


^1^ 


42 


\1/ 

—  *  — 

/ 


ARRIVAL    OF    THE    OMNIBUSES. 


FUN  BETWEEN  THE  HOUSES. 


Congress  Hall,  July  22. 


It  is  too  amusing  to  witness  the  rivalry  between  Congress  Hall 
and  the  Grand  Union.  Each  hotel  to  the  other  is  like  "  the 
rival  editor  across  the  way."  When  the  big  New  York  afternoon 
train  comes  in,  you  will  always  see  the  ruddy  face  of  Mr.  William 
Leland  on  the  Grand  Union  steps  in  a  state  of  terrible  expec- 
tancy, while  just  across  the  street  will  be  the  Chesterfieldian 
Hathorn  noting  the  exact  number  in  the  rival  omnibus. 

"  One — two — three — four,"  begins  Hathorn,  when  Southgatc 
interrupts  him  by  saying — 

"  Pshaw  !  only  twenty-five  in  all — all  men  for  the  races  too." 

On  the  other  side  all  the  clerks  run  to  the  front,  while  Warren 
and  Bill  Leland  commence  to  count  the  Hathorn  passengers. 

"  Two — four — six— eight,  twenty-eight,  and  /m//  xi'omen,  by 
gum !  "  exclaims  Bill,  the  drops  of  cold  perspiration  rolling 
down  his  cheeks. 


'1^ 


43 


/iv 


/ 


\ 


"  No,  you're  wrong,  Bill,"  says  Warren,  "only  twenty-six  !" 
"  I'll  bet  a  million  there  is  twenty-seven." 
"  Why,  Bill,  you — you  don't  count  those  girls  in  short  dresses, 
do  you  ?"  expostulates  Warren. 

^    ;  "You're   right,    War,    by    gum!" 

and  then  Bill  took  his  first  guest  by 
the  arm  and  led  him  behind  a  pillar, 
and  commenced  on  the  subject  of 
Congress  Hall. 

"  See    that    mean-looking    brick 
house  over  there  .''" 
"  Ye.s." 

"  That's  Congress  Hall — a  regular 
penitentiary  of  a  house." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !"  exclaims  the 
guest,  opening  his  eyes. 

"  Fact,    sir, — ask  Warren.     Why, 

they  starve  people  over  there.     For 

two  weeks  they  hadn't  a  pound  of 

flour  in   the  house — the  guests  ate 

beefsteak  three  times  a  day.    Then 

the  steak  gave  out,  and  d — d  if  I 

THAT  18  CONGRESS  HALL.  belicve  thcy  had  anything.     It  is  an 

absolute  fact,  sir,  that  Hathorn  made  three  crackers  and   eleven 

gallons  of  water  supply  twelve  guests  a  week." 

"  Musquitoes  .•*" 

"  Lord  !  don't  ask.     Why,  sit  on  that   Hathorn  balcony   and 
you  can't  hear  the  brass  band  in  the  parlors,  the  musquitoes 
make  such  a  buzzing." 
"  Flies  .'' " 

"  Yes,  by  gum  !  You  can't  see  the  sun  from  the  back  of  the 
house,  without  punching  a  hole  through  the  swarms  of  flies  with 
your  umbrella  to  look  through.  Ask  Hall,  or  Slocum,  the  news- 
men, they  know  it." 

"  But  Commodore  Vanderbilt  stays  th — " 
"  Commodore  thunder  i  Why,  when  he  came  last  year  he 
weighed  just  486  pounds.  He  stayed  there  three  weeks  and 
became  a  living  skeleton — weighing  87  pounds  !  The  poor  ema- 
ciated man  was  seen  by  his  wife  eating  crackers  and  hard  boiled 
eggs  behind  the  card-stand  to  keep  from  starving." 

"  Where  does  /le  board  .'*"  said  the  guest,  pointing  to  Judge 
John  Fitch. 

"  Well,  he's  just  come — he's  lean  now,"  said  Bill.  "  Jiist  you 
see  him  two  weeks  from  now — a  pair  of  hay  scales  won't  weigli 


^1 


\ 


44 


/I^ 


him.     General  Burford  was  lean  too  when  he  came  iicrc,  and  so 
was  Judge  Connolly.     Look  at  the  giants  now — look  at  them  !" 

YANKEE   JEWS. 

The  Hutchinson  family  of  Jacobs,  Isaacs,  and  Rebeccas — 
those  Puritans  with  Jewish  names,  long  hair,  and  Plymouth-Rock 
shirt  collars  turned  over  their  coats — whitened  the  town  u[)  with 
handbills  yesterday.  Somebody  asked  Artemus  Ward  what 
nation  he  belonged  to.  "  I  think  my  ancestors  came- from  Jeru- 
salem," said  the  humorist,  "  for  we  had  an  Isaac  and  a  Jacob  in 
our  family,  but  my  uncle's  name  was  Cyrus— so  I  think  I've  got 
some  Persian  blood  in  me." 

INDIGNATION. 

,  Yesterday,  "  young 

man  from  the  country" 
sauntered  in  and  took 
a  seat  at  the  breakfast 
table.  He  sat  fifteen 
minutes  without  speak- 
ing'— the  waiter  stand- 
ing deferentially  be- 
hind him. 

"  When  is  the  table 
to  be  set.'"  he  asked. 

"  What  will  you 
have  .''"  said  the  waiter, 
handing  him  a  bill  ol 
fare. 

TAKE  THAT  PAPER  AWAY !  "  Take     that  uapcr 

away — I  want  something  to  eat — I   didn't  come  here  to  rea4," 
exclaimed  the  indignant  countryman. 

DAINTY   DISHES. 

Yesterday  a  wag  asked  for  "  baked  potatoes  with  monograms 
on  them." 

Dainty,  delicate  red  raspberries,  reed  birds,  woodcock,  s<itt 
shell  crabs  and  brook  trout  !  that's  what  we  had  for  dinner  yes- 
terday. They's  got  them  down" stairs  and  Fll  tell  you  privately 
how  to  get  them.  When  you  came  in  to  the  dining-room  you 
must  shake,  hands  with  Robert  Jackson  the  head-waiter  (no 
money) ;  advancing  to  your  seat  you  must  look  at  your  waiter 
with  a  nice  smile — then  handing  him  a  dollar  ask  hini  to 
confer  with  Le  Compt,  the  cook,  on  "  the  state  of  the  nation. 
When  you  come  to  dinner  the  next  day,   if  it  be  ever  so  late. 

45 


si/ 

—  •  — 


/|V 


you  will  find  a  nice  woodcock,  soft  shell  crab  or  sweet  bread 
snufTly  hid  away  under  a  cover  in  front  of  you !  Ignorantia  legis 
don't  excuse  any  body. 

Moon  (on  the  lake)  lets  you  shoot  a  domestic  bird— hook  out  a 
tame  trout  and  attend  its  funeral  service  in  Duncan  Hall.  When 
he's  a  full  moon  he  won't  charge  you  a  cent,  but  when  he's  on  the 
last  quarter — well  it  is  an  expensive  luxury. 
EXTREME  OF  VICE. 
Paymaster  Cunningham  astonished  every  body  to-day  by 
boldly  reading  the  following  six  lines  from  a  copy  of  Pope's 
Essay  on  Man  : — 

•'  Vice  is  a  monster  of  such  frighttul  mien, 
That  to  be  hated  needs  but  to  be  seen  : — 
But  seen  too  oft — familiar  with  its  face 
We  first  endure,  then  pity— then  embrace  : — 
But  Where's  the  extreme  of  vice  ?  'twas  ne'er  agreed. 
Ask  Where's  the  North — in  York  'tis  on  the  Twked." 

GAMBLING. 
More  like  Baden-Baden,  every  year,  becomes  Saratoga.  John 
Morrissey  has  added  still  another  building  to  his  old  establish- 
ment, making  it  a  fair  rival  to  the  Kursaal  at  the  Badens.  The 
rooms  now  include  a  beautiful  club  salon,  and  Belmont  and 
Travers,  and  two  hundred  conspicuous  members  of  the  Jockey 
Club  are  stockholders  and  members.  Gorgeously  furnished 
toilet-rooms,  faro  parlors,  and  dining-rooms,  carpeted  with  soft 
carpets  and  decorated  with  rich  carvings  and  bronzes,  hold  the 
blase  and  allure  the  naive.  Last  summer,  twenty-five  thousand 
ladies  visited  these  rooms,  and  this  summer  several  receptions 
will  be  held.  The  Honorable  John  is  liked  in  Saratoga,  because 
he  divides  the  profits  of  his  sinning  with  the  good  people  of  the 
village  with  a  generous  hand.  A  few  days  ago  he  subscribed 
five  hundred  dollars  toward  sprinkling  Lake  Avenue.  It  is 
dreadful  to  think  that  the  descendants  of  Miles  Standish  are 
some  day  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  the  gambling  Badeners, 
but  year  by  year  the  gilded  curtain  is  lifted  higher  and  higher, 
until  now  wc  begin  to  see  the  beautiful  figure  of  vice  without 
shrinking 


— ■  •  — 

\ 


^'^  7t  >i~ 


SPRINKLED.— NEW  SPRING.— JESSIE   CRANE. 


Congress  Hall,  July  2}. 


Grown  people  have  a  good  many  white  days  in  their  lives  to 
look  back  upon, — the  first  doll,  first  love,  engagement,  college 
triumphs,  a  peep  at  Naples,  and  a  thousand  and  one  great 
surprises  ;  but  one  of  the  zvhitest  days  of  little  Jessie  Crane's  life 
was  last  Thursday,  at  the  Grand  Union.  Jessie  Crane  is  a  very 
little  girl,  not  more  than  forty  inches  high,  with  Saragossan 
blonde  hair,  rosy  cheeks,  and  eyes  with  long,  drooping  lashes, 
and  she  lives  at  No.  31  West  Twenty-first  street.  On  Thursday 
Miss  Jessie  held  a  reception — a  grand  drawing-room  reception. 
Everybody  cane,  and  a  bevy  of  misses  went  into  ecstacies  over 
Jessie's  beautiful  wardrobe.  Her  dress  was  scarlet  satin,  trimmed 
with  real  lace,  and  her  parasol,  with  a  little  .six  inch  handle,  was 
trimmed  to  match.  Her  golden  ringlets  curled  all  around  her 
head.  Her  jewelry  was  rich  and  costly,  and  so  great  was  the 
curiosity  to  see  her  nice. things,  that  her  mother  made  a  display 
of  them  in  the  grand  parlors.     The  tiny  trunk  was  opened,  and 


47 


"1^ 


-  »  — 

. ""^  \ 

there  were  beautiful  fans,  only  two  inches  long  ;  handkerchiefs, 
four  inches  square  ;  three  bonnets,  about  the  size  of  your  hand  ; 
diamond  rings,  point    lace  jackets,  camel's  hair  shawls,  twenty 
inches  square  ;  little  envelopes,    about   an    inch    long  ;  visitmg 
cards,  a  half-inch  square  ;  and  even  a  little  thimble  about  as 
larf^e  as  a    pea.     Jessie's  trousscmi    was  imported  from    Pans. 
Among  the  guests  present  were  Miss  Ellen  Kellogg,  of  Chicago  ; 
Miss  Bella  Seligman,  of  Thirty-fourth  street ;  Miss  Ida  Leland, 
Miss  Englehart,  Miss  Petus,  of 
Madison    Avenue,    and    many 
others.      After    the    reception, 
Miss  Mamie  Crane  locked  her 
daughter  up  in  a  trunk,  and  the 
servant  carried  her  away.     Jessie  was  a — a — d-o-1-1 ! 

SPRINKLED ! 

Yes,  for  the  first  time,  Lake  Avenue  is  sprinkled,  from  the 
village  to  the  lake.  For  unremembered  years  point  laces  have 
been  turned  yellow  by  the  debris  of  this  highway,  and  camel's 
hair  shawls  and  rich  pongee  dresses  have  been  frosted  with  the 
sacred  soil  of  Saratoga.  But  now  pure  air  takes  the  place  of  the 
wonted  simoon,  and  a  Central  Park  phaeton  is  a  delightful 
luxury. 

NEW   INDIAN   SPRING. 

Another  new  spring  !  When  they  shoved  the  Indians  away 
from  their  old  camping  ground  above  the  Park,  they  (Mr.  Jessie 
Button,  of  Ballston)  commenced  boring  for  water.  Mr.  Button 
is  the  man  who  found  the  Geyser  spring.  After  boring  two 
hundred  feet  Mr.  Button  struck  the  mineral  water  strata,  and 

FIZZ  ! 

went  a  stream  of  carbonic  acid  gas  forty  feet  into  the  air  !  The 

spring  has  been  "  doing  so  some  more  "  to-day.     Tubing  will 

soon  be  put  down  when  it  is  expected  that  this  spring  will  spurt 

like  the  Geyser.     The  water  tastes  like  Congress  spring — only 

not  so  much  so.     The  spring  is  a  mystery.     The  laborers  are  as 

mysterious  as  a  masonic  lodge  about  its  depth,  amount  of  rock 

excavated,  &c. 

They  go  around  with  their  fingers  to  their  lips,  and  sh=— ~!  is  the 

only  ominous  answer  given  to  the  thousand 

and   one   questions   asked.     My   Statician 

says  they  bored  95  feet,  excavated  no  rock, 

and  that  the  spring  will  not  run  after  the 

excess  of  gas    is  exhausted.     He  was  right — for  it  has  stopped 

sprouting  already. 


WALKING    STICKS. 

Dr.  Fred.  Anderson  sa\'s  "  walking  stick.sat  Saratoga — articles 

of  u.sc   and   ornament    to   the  view are 

abominations  in  the  hands  oftheman\-. 
Every  male  at  tliis  .summer  resort  con- 
siders it  the  correct  thing  to  "  wear  "  a 
stick,  and,  moreover,  that  it  is  essential 
to  keep  it  in  constant  agitation  ;  when 
the  tyro  is  not  tripping  himself  with  his 
awkward  little  cane,  after  the  fashion  of  a 
green  adjutant  on  trainin'  day,  he  is  ha- 
zarding the  vision  of  his  neighbors,  or 
punching  tlie  short  ribs  of  the  nervous 
classes.  This  fashion  should  be  regulated 
by  an  Act  of  Congres.s.  Jt  calls  for  legis- 
lation loudly.  It  should  be  the  privilege 
of  the  halt,  blind,  and  infirm  to  carry  canes,  and  of  dexterous 
.swells  to  wear  sticks  only.  I'Axry  afternoon,  while  the  band 
})erforms,  those  who  are  not  hammering  in  consonance  with  the 
leader's  baton,  are  twirling  their  sticks  like  Fourth  of  July  pin- 
wheels,  and  attempting  to  appear  compo.scd.  The  danger  of 
these  weapons  is  understood  at  art  galleries  alone,  and  ignored 
totally  at  Saratoga." 


J/ 

A 


^|~ 


49 


/fN 


'>€^i 


^v  v,^^-,,.,  ^V      Congress  PIall,  July  25th.     ^' 

\v..,^Sm^  ■'  The  drives  about  Saratoga  are      j^" 

getting   nicer   and    nicer   every         "^^^^ 
r-^       year,  and  Lake  Avenue,  running 
as  straight  as  an  arrow  from  the 
village  to  the  lake,  will  one  day    ^ 
.w.^^^y  rival     the     famous     Untcr    den 

"^-^'^j        Linden  of  Berlin.     We  have  not 
■J-^        the  Brandenburg  Gate,  nor  the  "^lif^If^ 

v  statue  of  Frederick   the  Great,  ^E'-^'  'i^ 

^  on  the  way,  but  we  have  four 

beautiful  rows  of  trees  most  of 
the  way,  and  when  sprinkled  the  ^'~' 

drive  down  by  the  old  Saratoga  battlefield  is  unsurpassed.     The 
distances  to  the  different  points  of  interest  here  are  as  follows  : 

Miles. 

Snrntopa  1-ake 4 

(JridlevV  Trout  Ponds 2 

Prospect  Hill  5 

(Tien  Mitchell  and  Loughberry  Lake / 4 

Ballston  t=i)a 7 

AVhite  Sulphur  Spring  and  Red  Spring 4 

Geyser  iipring 2 

EQUIPAGES. 

My  Statistical  friend  has  been  riding  with  almost  every  body 
here,  and  he  hands  me  the  following  list  of  turnouts  : 

John  Appleton,  publisher,  pair  of  long-tailed  bays  to  a  clarence. 

Mr.  I.  N.  Phelps,  Dodge  &  Co.,  New  York  ;  dapple  grays  ; 
stylish  ;  bow-necks. 

Mr.  E.  A.  Hammond,  the  millionaire  batchelor  of  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel,  pair  of  large  bays  to  a  dogcart,  takes  out  Mr.  J. 
Coddington  and  M.  G.  M.  Groves. 


-^r 


50 


^1^ 


\l/ 

— —  •   ■  -— .1.         II  ■ .-  Ill -   ■■■  I  -I  I  __ — -  

/ 

Mr.  James  H.  Peabody,  of  Philadelphia,  bays  to  a  landau. 

Mr.  Joseph  Harker,  Commodore  Vandcrbilt's  friend,  pair  of 
trotters. 

Mr.  P.  Van  Valkenburg,  handsome  span  of  bays. 

Sheriff  O'Brien,  sorrel  horses  to  a  do<^cart. 

Hon.  William  Wall,  of  Fifth  Avenue,  pair  of  gray.s. 

Mr.  Charles  Wall,  of  Park  Avenue,  grays  to  a  barouche. 

Mr.  Frank  H.  Lord,  stylish  P2nglish  drag  with  span  of  bays. 
Also  tandem  team. 

R.  H.  Southgate,  sorrel  trotters,  time  2:],'/. 

C.  F.  Southgate,  handsome  blacks. 
Mr.  S.  W.  Coe,  of  East  Forty-second  street  (H.  B.  Claflan  & 

Co.),  poney  phaeton,  and  clarence  seen  almost  every  afternoon 
riding  to  the  lake  with  a  load  of  beautiful  children. 

George  H.  Bissell,  of  5th  Avenue,  stylish  Vermont  ba)s  to 
open  box-drag.  Mrs.  Tenney  his  sister,  and  his  daughter,  Miss 
Florence,  and  handsome  little  son  Pelham,  generally  ride  with 
him. 

Judge  B.  H.  Bixby,  spike  tail  road  team — time,  2:37^. 

Colonel  R.  C.  Hawkins,  bays  to  a  park  phaeton. 

Mr.  W.  S.  Wyse  (time,  2:40),  Mr.  J.  F.  Purdy  (time,  2:38),  Mr. 
J.  R.  Whaley  (time,  2:37;^),  and  Mr.  A.  L.  Webb  (time,  2:41), 
fast  road  horses  to  light  wagons. 

Mr.  J.  P.  Wallace,  handsome  span  to  park  phaeton. 

Mr.  J,  L.  Young,  gray  trotters — time  2:41. 

Wm.  Turnbull,  sorrei  colts,  raised  by  himself 

Robert  Squires,  President  of  the  Third  Avenue  Railroad, 
blacks  to  a  landau.  His  son,  Chalmers,  bay  trotter  to  a  light 
wagon — time,  2:39. 

Major  Gibbs,  English  drag  with  side  seats— horses  chestnuts. 

D.  C.  Wilcox,  bays  to  a  park  pheaton. 
Captain  J.  B.  Thomas,  bays  to  a  "  C  "  spring  landau. 

E.  H.  Miller,  brown  horses  to  a  park  phaeton. 
B.  F.  Carver,  banker,  large  bays  to  a  "  C  "  spring  landau. 
George  Dennison,  bay  horses  to  a  park  phaeton. 
Colonel  J.  A.  Bridgeland,  of  Indiana,  span  of  Cadmas  bays, 

drives  out  in  his  Brewster  phaeton.  Senator  Robertson,  Colonel 
A.  Boody,  President  of  the  Wabash  Railroad  ;  Fernando  Wood, 
and  Mr.  V.  S.  Davis,  President  of  the  First  National  Bank  of 
Memphis. 

Hon.  A.  Boody,  of  5th  Avenue,  the  great  Railroad  projector, 
bays  to  a  landau. 

Ex-Mayor  George  Opdyke,  bays  to  a  clarence. 

Mr.  T.  Brooks,  of  Brooklyn,  dapple  grays  to  a  landau. 


—  •  — 

/ 


Robert  L.  Stewart,  the  New  \'ork  sui^ar  refiner,  bays  to  a 
four-seated  German-town. 

Mrs.  W.  H.  Hicks,  of  East  iHuirteenth,  rides  on  horseback 
morning  and  evenin<j,  accompanied  by  her  grooms. 

John  T.  Parish,  an  old  //<?/;////£•  of  Saratoga  and  the  Clarendon, 
Kentucky  thorough-breds.  For  thirty  years  Mr.  Parish  has 
annually  appeared  at  the  Clarendon — a  bachelor,  and,  the 
go.ssips  say,  a  great  catch.  Imagine  the  commotion  of  the 
Clarendonite  ladies  when  this  year  he  appeared  upon  the  scene 
with  a— beautiful  wife  ! 

J.  R.  P'ranklyn,  New  York  City,  bays  to  a  Brewster  phaeton. 

Mr.  Kellogg,  of  New  York,  browns  to  an  open  carriage. 

Henry  Smith,  President  of  the  Board  of  Police  Commissioners, 
brown  horses  to  a  landau. 

O.  A.  Bills,  of  Yonkers,  gray  trot*^ers — time,  2:42. 

George  A.  Taylor,  bays  to  a  park  phaeton. 

Judge  Barnard,  chestnuts  to  a  park  phaeton. 

Dr.  Crane,  of  P2ast  Twenty-first  street,  chestnuts  to  a  park 
]:)haeton. 

A.  T.  Stewart,  pair  of  large  Kentucky  thoroughbred  bays. 

Judge  Hilton,  pair  of  large  browns  to  a  landau. 


—  •  — 


y^yt^"^ 


\ 


^1^ 


—  •  — 


M00x\  ON  THK  LAKK 


Congress  Hai.i.,  Ju1>-  26. 


Yesterday  I  went  out  to  Moon's  little  storey-and-a-half  modern 
hotel  on  the  lake  with  General  Babcock  and  Colonel  H 

After  looking  at  the  tame  trout,  rolling  a  game  of  ten-pins, 
and  tasting  some  of  that  delicious  champagne,  impregnated  with 
the  flavor  of  orange  peel,  made  by  President  F.  S.  Davis,  of  Mem- 
phis, the  dapper  little  proprietor,  Mr.  C.  B.  Moon,  took  us  through 
the  dining  rooms,  larders,  and  kitchens  of  the  establishment. 

"  Twenty-one  years 
ago,"  said  Mr.  Moon, 
"  I  came  up  from 
Hartford,  Washing- 
ton Count}-,  with  $26, 
and  a  pair  pf  boots 
over  my  shoulders. 
I  fell  out  with  hard 
work  (wi  the  farm,  and 
built  a  little  shanty 
here  on  tiic  hike. 
Saratoga  was  then  a 
village  of  about  five 
hundred  inhabitants." 
"  What  was  land 
worth   then  .-'" 

"  I  could  bu\'  the 
best  land  around  the  \-ilIagc  for  $30  per  acre,  and  right  there.-,  ' 
said  he,  pointing  to  the  bank  of  the  lake  a  few  rods  ort,  "  1  ha\c 
just  .sold  an  acre  for  $1,000  to  l'"rank  Leslie,  who  is  to  t)ui!d  an 
Italian  7'i//(r.  1  own  land  for  a  half  mile  now  from  the  lake  back 
to  the  swamp." 

"  How  has  the  race  track  affected  propert}' .^  " 
"  It  has  damaged  it.      Dozens  of  carriages,   wi///  sf^oltai  doi:s 
under  them,  used  \.o  drive  uj)  to  my  place,  while   the\-   now    go  to 


5  J 


\i/ ^k 

some  more  quiet  resort.  They  won't  bring  their  famiHes  here; 
where  there  is  such  a  smell  of  horses.  Then  the  war  made  great 
changes." 

RICH    SAM    DUNCAN. 

"  Do  you  see  this  room  .'"  said  Mr.  Moon,  opening  a  door  into 
a  rear  room  witii  a  veranda  in  front  of  it.  "  This  was  the  old 
Duncan  dining-room.  I  naqned  it  after  Sam  Duncan,  who  had 
that  big  plantation  at  Skipwith  Landind,  on  the  Mississippi. 
Thousands  of  dollars  Sam  has  spent  here.  Blooded  fellows, 
those  Duncans  !  Jkit  they  ain't  what  they  used  to  be.  Why, 
last  summer  a  shabbily-dressed  man  came  into  the  bar-room  and 
took  a  drink  alone.     1  thought  I  knew  him,  and  said  I : 

"  '  Hellow,  Sam,  is  that  you  .''' 

"  '  1  didn't  think  you  would  know  me,'  said  Sam. 

••  '  I  should  think  I'd  be  a  darned  fool  to  forget  a  man  who 
has  spent  as  many  thousand  dollars  with  me  as  you  have,'  said 
1." 

rOOR    SAM    DUNCAN. 

"  '  Don't  mention  it,'  said  Sam, — '  don't!'  and  then  my  old 
friend  Duncan  turned  away  and  looked  sadly  out  of  the  window. 
I  slipped  up  to  him,  and  said  I,  '  Sam,  won't  you  dine  to-day  in 
Duncan  Hall  ^ 

"  '  No — no,  Moon'  stammered  Sam,  as  he  brushed  a  tear  from 
his  eye,  '  I'm  too  poor  now — I've  lost  everything.  I'm  stopping 
at  a  quiet  boarding-house  in  Ballston,  but  I  thought  I  must  come 
and  see  the  place  where  we  had  such  good  times  before  the  war.' 

"  Lord!  "  said  Moon,  "  how  mean  he  made  me  feel  ! — and  then 
I  took  Sam  Duncan's  hand  and  pulled  him  into  the  old  Duncan 
dining-room,  and  I  ordered  the  best  dinner  the  boys  could  get 
up.  We  had  woodcock,  trout,  and  champagne  and  Santa  Cruz 
rum  out  of  the 

OLD    "  FRANK    WADDELL  "    BOTTLE. 

"  What  is  the  '  Frank  Waddell  bottle  ?'  "  1 
asked. 

"  Here,"  said  Moon,  stepping  to  the  bar. 
"  this  is  the  old  bottle — 113  years  old,"  and 
he  held  up  an  old  chunk  of  a  green  bottle,  on 
which  was  the  inscription — 

"  Frank  Waddell  was  a  gentleman  dyed  in 
the  wool,"  continued  Moon,  "and  his  bottle  has 
been  filled  more  than  ten  thousand  times  with 
the  best  rum  in  America.    -Once  Sir  Charles 

-1^  T4  >i^ 


7*- 


Gray  sent  me  a  cask  of  rum  from  Santa  Cruz,  and  I  had  a  mau 
go  to  New  York  and  ride  straddle  of  the  bun^-holc  all  the  way 
to  Saratoga,  and  I  rode  in  myself,  astride  like  a  jockey,  from  the 
depot  to  the  lake." 

Here  a  quiet-looking  old  gentleman  came  in  and  asked  for  the 
Frank  Waddell  bottle. 

"  Who  is  that  T  I  asked. 

"That's  Stuart,  one  of  the  big  Stuarts,  sugar  refiners,  of 
New  York.  Stuart  knew  Sam.  Duncan  and  Frank  Waddell. 
for  he's  been  here  for  twenty  years — he's  ?i  poor  man — only  worth 
$i7,(X)0,ooo  !"  said  Moon,  with  a  twinkle  of  the  eye.  "  He  likes 
to  come  out  here  now,  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  for  his  pig 
pork  and  brook  trout."  Stuart  now  took  a  "smile"  with  young 
Erastus  Corning,  of  Albany,  who  kept  a  2:46  span  of  bays  wait- 
ing at  the  door. 

"  Who  has  given  the  biggest  dinner  here  in 

twenty  years  V  I  asked. 

"  Let's    see,"    said    Moon,    scratching    his 

head  ;    "  well,    Watts    Sherman,  of   Duncan. 

Sherman  &  Co.,  gave  the  biggest  dinner  a  few 

years  ago.     Thirty-six  in  the  party — and  the 

dinner  cost  $3,000.     Madame  Rush  was  one 

of  the  party.     My  wife  was  in  her  prime  then, 

and.  Lord  !  you  ought  to  have  seen  that  din- 
ner— canvas-backs,   hot-house  grapes,  Johan- 

nisberger,   Roman  punch, !"  and    Moon 

held  up  both  hands,  like  a  great  V,  while  his 

eyes  hung  out  in  a  state  of  wondering  bewilderment. 

Now  wc  enter  the  larder, 
where  were  layers  of  brook 
trout,  reed-birds,  woodcock, 
partridges  and  black  bass. 

"  This  partridge  looks  like 
an  old  fellow — he's  five  \-ears 
old,"  said  Colonel  Bridgeland, 
holding  up  an  antique  par- 
tridge which  one  of  Moon's 
hunters  was  dressing  ;  "  what 
will  you  do  with  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  some  of  those  shodd)- 
city   fellows  will   come  along 
to-day,   and    they   can't    tell 
OLD  HENS  FOR  SWELLS.  tlils  oJd  lictt   from  z.  chickcH. 

I  know  too  much  to  give  this  old  bird  to  one  of  your  thoroui;h- 

55 


—  •  ^ 


/|' 


xl/ 


bred  boys."  rcplKxl  Moon,  witli  ii  merry  twinkle. 

jM  )!  ATOKs  (rill',  SIX  RKT). 

"Mow  do  you  cook  the  potatoes  .^"  I  ;i>ked,  as  we  looked 
tliroui^h  the  kitchen. 

"  \Ve  <!ice  tlieni  .is  thin  as  paper,  put  theni  in  ice-water  over 
ni'^hl,  wipe  them  th-\-  witli  a  towek  then  fry  them  cpiick." 

"  What  else  do  you  do  i*" 

Mr,  Moon  i^ave  a  profound  look,  and  then  said  he,  uiystcrwitsly, 
"Well,  there  is  one  thin^'  that  \  fool  tlieiii  all  on.  Do  you  see 
tiiis  bii^  dark  C)\en  .^" 

"  ^'cs." 

"Well,  i  put  them  in  tlu".-e,  after  dr\ing  them  with  the  towel, 
where  it  is  perU'Cti)-  dark  and  hot,  and  dry  them  to  a  cri.sp  before 
the)-  are  fried  ;  that  makes  tliem  li;.;lit-colored.  That's  a  secret, 
iioic — mum's  the  word  I" 


/i^ 


56 


—  •  — 

/ 


\l/ 


SAl^ATOGA  G0SS11\ 


S  \RA1()(..\.  Jul\-  2-J. 

rariu^raph  wrilini;  is 
a  birlh  of  ilic  19th  ccn- 
lur\-.  It  took  a  i)ai;c 
for  a  writer  to  c\;)rcss 
an  i(.U'a  a  huiulrctl  years 
ago.  Dr.  Johnson  ne\er 
turned  around  on  le...^ 
than  tweKe  pa:.;cs. 
"  Gulli\-er's  Travel;.  ' 
the  "  Wandering  Jew" 
and  "  Don  Quixote" 
would  ha\e  been  told 
in  a  colunin.  in  1872, 
for  the  dail}'  j^ress. 
The  daily  press  killed 
off  all  these  long  wind- 
ed fellows  like  Dr 
Johnson. 

OIDDT    CLARENDONITES.  \ ^^\\    \\\\\     \et    li\e    tc 

see  our  daily  newspapers  niade  up  of  epigrams  and  paragraphs 
illustrated  by  Cdrtooii^  which,  as  you  see  in  our  Gin\-Hab\- 
chapter,  strike  tha  heart  of  , the  reader  as  a  streak  of  lightning 
penetr^tps  t^ie  hearf ,jof  a  lia.y-stack. '    Don't  they  } 

'    V,   ■        ..'^^in      "5i^RA^0%A. 

The  t'hfee  i^otel^-— the  t^n ion,  Columbian,  and  Congress — 
have  about  2;  pOO  guests  to-da}'.  The  White  Mountain,  Lake 
(George,  and  Richfield  toi^rists  are  getting  in  to  be  present  at  the 
culmination  of, the  great  social  carnival,  about  the  ist  of  August. 
The  August  races  commence  on  the  16th,  and  last  six  days. 
LEVI  rv  AT  Tim  CLARENDON. 

Two  giddy  young  people  arose  from  their  chairs  at  the 
Clarendon  last  evening,  and,,  to  tlie  amazement  of  everybody. 
connnenced  %valtziug  around  theraovi  !  They  have  been  expel  let! 
from  the  house,     {sec  cartoon). 


\  _ 


5; 


—  •  — 

\ 


JOKE. 

The  Congress  Hall  guests  were  talking  about  patriotic  music 
this  evening,  when  some  one  suggested  that  Bernstein  be  re- 
quested to  play  the  national  airs.  A  lady  in  the  house,  whose 
husband  loves  her  more  before  people  than  elsewhere,  said  she 
didn't  want  "  Hail  Columbia "  with  the  rest,  as  her  husband 
frequently  gave  her  /mi/  Co/umbia  itp-stairs  ! 

Every  body  was  frightened 

BY  THUNDER ! 
yesterday.  The  Long  Branch  and  Cape  May  storm  arrived 
here  at  three  P.  M.  The  sky  darkened— the  clouds  hung  over 
Saratoga  like  a  funeral  pall,  then  broke  in  a  flood  of  rain,  driving 
in  the  music.  The  gas  was  lighted  and  the  Congress  Hall  dining- 
room  became  an  evening  dress  promenade. 

GROESBECK   ON   THE   WAR    PATH. 

Fernando  Wood  told  the  following  anecdote  of  W.  S.  Groes- 
beck,  Mr.  Dana's  candidate  for  the  Presidency,  to  a  group  of 
New  Yorkers,  to-day  :  "  It  happened  in  Paris  in  '6"].  A  daughter 
of  Mr.  John  F.  Pennman  became  engaged  to  a  Parisian  Count. 
A  short  time  before  the  nuptials  Mr.  Pennman  settled  $10,000 
annuity  on  the  Count.  Soon  after,  and  before  the  wedding  took 
place,  the  young  lady  died,  when  the  miserable  Count  commenced 
a  suit  in  the  French  Courts  for  the  annuity. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  would  do  with  that  fellow,  Mr.  Wood, 
asked  the  Chesterfieldian  Groesbeck  .'' 

"  No.     What  .'*"  asked  Fernando. 

"  Pd  hang  the  d — d  scoundrel  up  by  the  heels  and  cut  his  d — d 
ears  off!  "  This  was  considered  a  very  live  remark  for  the  High 
Church  Groesbeck,  who  never  got  fully  awake  again  till  he  made 
a  speech  against  the  impeachment  of  Andy  Johnson. 

SELF-MADE   MEN. 

One  of  those  rich  no-account  fellows,  whose  father  is  a  stock- 
holder in  the  Academy  of  Music,  and  who  himself  is  a  social  and 
financial  parasite,  to-day  abused  a  man  because  he  was  a  self- 
made  man.  We  are  much  too  prone  to  over-estimate  self-made 
men,  but  many  gentle  youths  under-estimate  them.  We  admire 
self-made  men,  but  not  comparatively— as  every  body  admires 
little  George  who  plays  the  piano  and  sings  here  so  nicGly  for  a 
/itt/c  boy. — They  are  such  great  men  to  make  themselves— and 
then,  as  we  pass  by  the  brown  stone  front  to  look  at  the  Irish- 
man's house,  so  we  forget  the  Spooners,  Everetts,  the  Humboldts 
and  Kcplers,  to  look  at  the  disjointed  frames  of  such  really  great 

/_ 

58  /|N 


—  •  — 

/ 


\l/ 


self-made  men  as  Greeley,  Burritt  the  blacksmith,  and  Wilson 
the  shoemaker.  Now  Mr.  Greeley  is  a  great  man,  but  how  much 
greater  would  he  have  been  if  in  boyhood  he  had  studied  in  the 
school  with  Everett,  demonstrating  the  xxxvi.  of  Euclid,  or  read- 
ing the  philosophy  of  Aristotle,  in  the  ancient  Greek,  instead  of 
cultivating  his  mind  with  clumsy  symbols  of  tenant-house  misery  ' 
Why  Horace  Greeley  would  have  shook  the  globe  !  What  is  the 
sense  of  always  talking  ab.out  blood  in  horses  and  desjiising  it 
in  man  .-•  I  don't  mean  sham  blood  which  runs  to  heraldry,  coats  of 
arms  with  silly  hog-Latin  mottoes,  crests  of  hippogrififs  and 
libbards  and  heraldic  monograms,  small  clothes  generally — but  I 
mean  the  man  whose  father  and  grand-father  were  sqitare  up  ami 
doivn  men,  and  who  looked  after  the  son,  watered  him  with  pure 
water,  fed  him  with  good  intellectual  moral  and  material  food. 
washed  him,  rubbed  him  down  and  trained  his  muscles  as  old 
John  Harper  trained  his  blooded  horse  Longfellow! 

Old  John  has  got  his  woods  full  of  blooded  horses,  and  he 
knows  the  sire  and  dam  of  every  one,  and  I'll  bet  he'll  get  more 
racers  in  his  drove  of  colts  to  run  off  with  the  Mommouth  stakes 
than  you  will  find  among  a  promiscuous  drove  oi  self-raised  zo\\.s 
which  struggle  up  to  mature  horse-hood. 

MADE   HIMSELF. 

Henry  Clews,  our  young  bald-headed  banker,  boasts  of  being 
a  self-made  man. 

One  day  in  conversation  with  Mr.  Travers,  Mr.  C.  remarked : 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  am  proud  of  being  a  self-made  man — I  am  proud 
of  being  the  architect  of  my  own  fortune.     I  am " 

"  W-what !  y-you  a  self-m-made  man,  Mr.  Clews.^  asked  Mr.  T." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  made  mysejf  from  almost  nothing"  replied  the 
banker  standing  promptly  up  to  his  full  height. 

"  T-then  while  you  were  making  yourself,  Henry,  why  d-did'nt 
you  p-put  a  little  m-m-more  hair  on  the  t-top  of  your  head.? " 

Mr.  Clews  has  since  bought  a  wig. 

"  POKER " 

Many  distinguished  men  like  Simeon  Cameron,  General 
Schenck,  General  Nye  and  Senator  Chandler,  take  a  quiet  game  of 
"  poker  "  occasionally  for  amusement.  It  relaxes  the  tired  brain 
and  is  a  relief  from  the  fatigues  of  literary  or  forensic  labor. 
Even  Webster  and  Clay  and  Calhoun  played  "  poker." 

Judge  Bixly  tells  this  "  poker"  joke  on  Senator  Robertson  and 
the  Hon.  Mr.  W to-day. 

The  two  Honorables  are  in  the  habit  of  resorting  to  the  Sena- 
tor's room  daily  to  take  a  quiet  social  game  of  American  "  poker."      ^ 

-)K >i-" 


,1'. 


/^|\ 


60 


\1/ 

— —  •  — 

/ 


The  Honorable  Senator's  room  is  in  the  '•  1.  '  of  Congress  Hall 
and  just  across  the  corner  was  the  room  occupu-ii  by  two  wiity 
New  York  married  ladies,  who  could  see  tin  smator's  h.ind 
William  dealt  gof)d  hands,  and  both  comnunccil  bcttiu"  with  a 
good  deal  of  vim.  "  One-  two  hundred  bi-Uei  !  "  said  St:nator 
Robinson  William  was  just  about  to  call  him,  uhen  "'  Three 
queens  '  "  shouted  one  of  the  ladies  Tiie  lion  Willi;uii  -;avcd 
his  $200.  but  the  blinds  have  never  bee)t  of<ev  sii/ce  ' 


A       ^    \\    ,A  %     !'f^{l 


^M._      ^\kv 


MASKED    BALI, 


THE    FIRST    MASQUERADf 


The  first  masquerade  at  Congress  Hall  came  off  last  evening. 
The  room  committee  wore  rich  and  costly  dresses,  and  names  were 
printed  on  the  card  as  follows  : — 


:^/- ^ c 

Each  gentleman  carried  out  his  character  during  the  evening  : 

The  Bull  Fighter F-  H.  Lord. 

Earl  of  Leicester Dr.  Fred.  A.  Anderson. 

Fra  Diavolo C.  Anderson. 

Henry  IV ^-  ^   Southgate. 

Charles  IL.V.' W.  B.  Gage. 

Highland  Gentleman E.  H.  Stevens. 

Francis  1 Melville  D.  Landon. 

Spanish  Cavalier.'".'.*'. '.'.'.'. W.  B.  Wilshire. 

Louis  XIV Henry  W.  Raymond. 

Print-e  Hal. E.  H.  Rogers,  Jr. 

His  Satanic  Majesty James  Aveille. 

French  (Juard James  Prendergast. 

A  gentleman  from  Philadelphia  took  the  part  of  Satan  at  the 
da/  masque.  A  High  Church  Quaker  lady,  at  the  Clarendon, 
says  "  he  did  it  devilish  well  !  "  While  Mr.  Saxe  says  he  "  looked 
like  the  Devil!'' 

MASQUERADE   GENERALLY. 

The  masquerade  fever  exhausted  itself  last  evening  ;  but  the 
gilded  European  exotic  went  out  in  a  blaze  of 
glory.  We  of  the  North  are  too  matter-of- 
fact — too  civilized  to  appreciate  the  bal  masque. 
It  is  a  relic  of  barbarism.  The  custom  thrives 
better  at  the  W^hite  Sulphur  or  at  other  pro- 
vincial border  watering-places,  where  the 
people  have  for  a  long  time  run  to  tourna- 
ments and  other  fantastic  ceremonies.  As  the 
tournament  died  among  sensible  people  *vith 
Don  Quixote,  the  Knight  of  La  Mancha,  so 
the  bal  masqui  ought  to  die  w  ith  the  Venetian 
carnival.  We  see  grand  masquerades  in 
Moscow  and  St.  Petersburg,  but  the  Russians 
are  only  half  civilized.  It  is  there,  in  Moscow, 
where  the  Tartar  hordes  have  left  the  traces  of  Asiatic  barbarism, 
that  French  or  German  extravaganzas  culminate  into  gaudy 
Eastern  pageants. 

brown's  boys. 

A  gentleman  to-day  said  Fejee  Islanders  were  called  Can- 
nibals because  they  live  off  of  other  people. 

"  Then  I  have  three  Cannibals  at  my  house  on  Madison 
Avenue,"  said  a  rich  old  father-in-law,  "  for  1  have  three  Browns- 
Boy  sons-in-law,  who  live  off  of  me. 

N, / 

^1^  ^2  "^l^ 


—  •  — 
/ 


—  •  — 


THE   PIRATES  ! 

The  custom   of  the 
younggentlemen  hold- 
ing the  young  ladies' 
hands  on  the  Claren- 
don balcony  duringthe 
evening,     instead      of 
dancing  in 
the  parlor, 
has    been 
interfered 
with  by  the 
old   ladies, 
who    keep 
a      close 


INNOCENT    YOUNG    MEN. 


watch  nightly  from  the  second- 
story  windows.  One  good  old 
Quaker  lady,  from  Philadelphia, 
sits  up  all  night.  She  says 
she's  bound  to  be  aristocratic, 
if  it  half  kills  her. 

It  is  thus  that  ravenous 
wolves  in  sheep's  clothing  are 
ever  on  the  alert  for  the  inno- 


cent and  unwary. 


They  were  sitting  side  by  side — 
And — he  sighed — and  she  sighed  : 


Said  she,  "  You  are  my  darling  Luke." 
And — he — look-ed — and — she — looked  : 


Said  he,  "  My  darling  wilt  thou  ?  " 
And — she  wilted — and — ^he  wilted. 


\  _ 


63 


^1^ 


xl/ 


—  •  — 
\ 


ANCIKNT  HENRY. 


Saratoga,  July  28. 

Ri<,fht  here,  now  that  I  have  uritfen 
the  social  news  to-day,  I  must  tell  you 
some  reminisccncesof  "(^Id  Uncle  Hank." 

"  Old  Hank  "  was  one  of  the  century 
posts  of  Central  New  York.  He  lived  in 
Eaton  (Log  Cit)-),  Madison  Co.,  when  the 


DNCLE    HANK    IN    THE    GROrKRY. 


writer  left  home  to  go  away  to  college  a  good  many  years  ago, 
but  not  before  the  fame  of  "  Ancient  Henry,"  as  the  boys  used 
to  politely  call  him,  had  traveled  over  a  large  portion  of  the  State. 

They  say  he  is  dead  now,  but  his  wit,  his  frolicsome  humor  and 
keen  satire  live  fresh  and  green  in  the  memory  of  all. 

If  we  take  Lord  Kane's  definition  of  wit — "  a  constant  sur- 
prise," then   Uncle  Hank  would  rank  with  Swift,  Juvenal  and 


—  •  — 


64 


/    ■ 


Cervantes He  had  a  good  heart  and  was  withal  t^ciicious,  aiui 

his  wicked  anecdotes  only  resulted  from  a  desire  to  cheer  with 
wit  the  funereal  lives  of  his  friends. 

His  stories  were  general!}'  of 
the  Baron  -Munchausen-General 
Nye  order,  only  a  good  deal  more 
wicked.  He  was  a  great  hunter, 
kept  a  pack  of.  hounds  at  the 
grocery  in  the  village,  and  a  farm 
on  the  hills  just  to  hunt  on,  and 
he  knew  every  fox-hole  and 
coon-trail  in  the  county. 

He  used  to  tell  the  school  boys 
about  shooting  a  fox  so  large 
that  eight  boys  could  stand 
around  him,  and  before  they  had 
ceased  wondering,  he  would  tell  of  seeing  innumerable  flocks  of 
wild 'geese  flying' so  low  thaf  yo7i  could  shake  a  stick^at  thcni  ! 
Once  he  was  telling  about  a  fast  horse  which  he  owned  : — 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  started  from  West  Eaton  yesterday 
with  that  air  mar  of  mine  square  in  front  of  a  terrible  thunder 
shower.     The  wind  blew  a  hurricane  right  down  on  our  backs. 

The  big  drops  fell  into  the  hind  end  of  my  wagon  box 

"  '  Clk — elk  ! '  says  I  to  the  old  mar.  On  she  flew,  and  the  hur- 
ricane after  us — all  the  time  raining  and  hailing  in  the  back  end 
of  the  wagon.  I  reached  the  grocery  after  a  three  mile  race. 
The  rain  had  poured  into  the  hind  end  of  the  box  until  it  was 
level  full  of  water,  and  I  had  to  hold  up  my  feet  to  keep  them 
dry,  while  my  coat  and  the  wagon  seat  were  as  dry  as  powder  !" 
One  day  his  hounds  were  baying  after  a  fox  on  the  hills.  Old 
Hank  sat  on  the  grocery  steps  and  listened  as  to  a  symphony 
from  the  heavenly  choir. 

"  Do  you  hear  that  heayenly  music  .'"  he  asked,  as  Charle)' 
Miles  went  by  to  the  postoffice. 

"  No,"  replied  Charley,  "  those  d d  IiolmkIs  make  such  an 

infernal  noise  I -can't  iiear  anything  ;"  and  then  he  went  on 
chuckling  to  himself  at  the  good  joke  he  had  plaved  on  "  Old 
Hank." 

"Uncle  Henry  bought  a  farm  on  the  hill,''  he  said,  "because 
he  always  raised  such  fearful  crops  of  corn  and  hay  that  the 
ground  frequently  sank  in  with  the  weight !"  Once  he  negotiated 
for  some  land  adjoining   his  meadow.     And  when   John    Hall 


65 


/|N 


asked  him  what  he  wanted  it  for,  he  said   "  he  raised  so  much 
hay  on  his  land  that  he  had  no  place  to  spread  it  to  dry." 

Durini;  the  last  part  of  his  life  they  had  a  -ood  many  Method- 
ist and   Baptist  revivals  in  town 
became  a  devout  Christian,  but 


3k_ 

V 


last. 


^l^ 


During  one  of  these  his  son 
Old   Hank  "  held  out  to  the 

Speaking  of  special  Provi- 
dences one  day,  he  said, 
"  Why  the  Lord  takes  care 
of  every  good  Methodist. 
There's  my  Henry — when 
he  signed  one  hundred  dollars 
the  other  day  towards  build- 
ing the  new  meeting-house, 
\\c  did  not  know  where  in 
the  world  the  money  was 
coming  from  ;  but  that  very 
night  "  Elder  Smith  came 
along  on  a  visit,  and  he  and 
Henry  got  to  trading  horses, 
and  before  morning  Henry 
had  traded  him  out  of  a 
hundred  dollars  as  slick  as  a 
whistle !" 

Once  every  one  in  town 
got    very    much    interested 
QooD-BTE,  ELDER  SMITH !  ovcr  E  Baptlst  rcvival  which 

was  being  carried  on  by  Elder  Brown  and  Elder  Smitzer.  Elder 
Brown  used  to  go  round  and  tell  what  the  good  Lord  had  done 
for  his  Christian  children,  and  how  much  he  would  do  for  the 
worst  sinner  if  he  would  only  repent  and  come  into  the  fold. 
Meeting  "  Old  Hank  "  one  day  on  the  gi-ocery  steps,  where  he 

had  just  arrived  with  a  string  of  gray  squirrels,  Elder  B 

commenced  as  usual — 

"  Now,  Uncle  Henry,"  he  said,  "  you  see  what  the  Lord  has 
done  for  7nc,  you  see  what  he  has  done  for  brother  Hunt  and 
brother  Joslyn  ;  now  what  has  he  done  for  you  .■'" 

"  Old  Hank  "  looked  down  first  on  his  tattered  breeches,  and 
then  at  the  pile  of  squirrels,  and  then,  in  the  utmost  seriousness, 
replied  :  "  Well,  Elder  Brown,  while  I  think  it  over, — up  to  this 
tiaie  I  don't-think-he  has-done  the  first  dam  thing!" 

The  Methodist  minister  had  been  reading  the  story  of  the 
betrayal  of  our  Savior.  Uncle  Henry  looked  very  seriou.s,  and 
after  service  the  Elder  asked  him  what  serious  subject  his  mind 
was  dwelling  upon. 

66 


\[y . >!/ 

''I'm  thinking  what  a  dam  scoundrel  that  Judas  was,"  ex- 
claimed "  Old  Hank  "  rclii^iously 

"Old  Hank,"  Chancey  Root,  and  Cheen  Bel  lous  were  the  four 
"  cracked  "  hunters  and  fishers  of  Central  New  York.  Nobod\' 
thought  of  questioning  their  success  or  of  doubting  their  prowess. 
One  day  "  Old  Hank  "  was  amusing  a  group  of  villagens  on  the 
grocery  steps  with  Munchausen  stories  of  hunting,  &c.,  when  Dr. 
Purdy,  a  light,  frail  jihysician  who  had  never  been  known  to  hunt 
in  his  life,  came  along.  After  listening  for  a  moment,  he  startled 
everybody  by  saying,  "  Uncle  Hank,  I'll  bet  you  twenty-five 
dollars  that  I  can  kill  more  game  in  a  day  than  you  can." 

"  More  game  than  I  can  ! "  exclaimed  Uncle  Hank  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"Yes,  more  thanjw/  can,"  repeated  the  Doctor. 

"  It's  a  bet,"  replied  Old   Hank— "  next  Tue.sday  is  the  day 
we'll  count  the  game  as  they  do  in  the  shooting  matches,  lOO  for 
a  fox,  50  for  a  coon,  25  for  a  woodchuck,  10  for  a  squirrel,  5  for  a 
pigeon,  2  for  a  chipmunk  and  i  for  a  bird, "  and  then  he  hurried 
back  into  the  grocery  for  fear  the  Doctor  would  back  out. 

Tuesday  came,  Everybody  had  heard  of  the  great  match  and 
the  town  was  tremendously  excited.  Uncle  Hank  knew  George 
Andross  and  the  Leeville  fellows  were  to  run  a  fox  that  day,  so  he 
took  his  dogs  and  went  off  slily  to  strike  his  trail  on  the  hill. 
The  Doctor  loaded  himself  down  with  pigeon  shot  and  went  out 
shooting  everything  he  could  see  from  a  ground  bird  up  to  a 
squirrel.  Chancey  Root  said  he  shot  even  large  sized  crickets 
and  grasshoppers.  At  any  rate  he  rushed  about  like  a  walking 
arsenal  firing  minute  guns  all  day.  Night  came.  Uncle  Hank 
missed  his  fox  and  disappointed,  but  confident,  came  in  with  two 
woodchucks  and  about  a  dozen  gray  squirrels,  counting  in  all  1  10. 
The  Doctor  came  in  with  two  bags  full  of  chipmunks,  ground 
birds,  meadow  larks  and  red  squirrels,  counting  232  !  That  killed 
Uncle  Henry.  He  never  appeared  happy  after  that.  He  stopped 
talking  about  hunting,  attended  to  his  farm  and  became  one  of 
the  most  circumspect  citizens  of  the  town,  but  he  always  kept 
out  of  the  Doctor's  way. 

When  he  died  there  was  mourning  in  the  village.  His  place 
has  never  been  filled.  No  more  such  grand  old  stalks  can  gro'w 
from  the  same  hill,  for  Nature  exhausted  the  soil. 

Had  Uncle  Henry  been  schooled  like  Edward  Everett  or 
Spooner,  his  stories  would  have  been  like  the  "  Tale  of  the  Tub," 
"  Gulliver's  Travels,  "  and  his  adventures  would  not  have 
afforded  food  for  this  letter. 


—  •  — 


,^h;0'^0^\;.:.Jp 


Congress  Hall,  July  3L 

I  (/id  not  believe  the  story  that  snakes  liave  been 
frequently  found  in  the  different  springs  here, 
though  I  thought  it  might  sometimes  be  the  case. 
To-day,  as  an  honest  journalist,  I  must  tell  you  when  I  changed 
and  what  caused  me  to  change  my  opinion. 

Yesterday,  to  test  this  long-mooted  question,  Professor 
Chandler  applied  electricity  from  a  powerful  battery  on  Congress 
spring.  The  powerful  charge  ran  down  the  tubing  and  was 
drawn  off  by  the  excess  of  bi-carbonate  of  iron  in  the  water, 
causing  the  liquid  to  boil  and  seethe  like  a  cauldron.  The  shock 
was  so  powerful  that  it  shook  the  ground  to  such  a  degree  that 
Colonel  Johnson  run  out  of  his  office  to  a.scertain  the  cause. 
Notwithstanding  I'rof.  Chandler's  extra  electro-magnetic  charge, 
but  two  voy  small  striped  snakes  were  thrown  to  the  surface, 
and  they  glided  awa)-  in  great  fright  into  the  grass  near  the 
lovers  lOdlk. 

Mr.  Marvin,  who.  with  Judge  Hilton  and  A.  T.  Stewart,  saw 
the  snakes,  says  they  were  of  a  species — noctua-zylina  or  Ameri- 
can copperhead,  not  common  to  Saratoga,  but  frequently  fbund 
on  Manhattan  Island.  Fernando  Wootl  recognized  the  species 
at  once.  This  evenmg  the  Professor  applied  Professor  John 
Foster's  electro-magnetic  apparatus  from  Union  College,  and 
revelations  too  horrible  to  publish  were  disclosed  on  the  surface 
of  the  spring.  Bushels  of  (/ehris  were  thrown  to  the  top,  and  the 
poor  Indians,  who  have  had  a  very  quiet  time  of  it  lately,  vv'ere 
engaged  all  night  carrying  away  the  refuse  from  which  Congress 


'^ 


68 


^(^ 


—  •  — 


water  has  been  manufactured  since  1805.  I  see  their  ha"-<'ard 
forms  now  moving  back  and  forth  through  the  moonlight  be- 
tween their  encampment  and  the  spring. 

I  write  these  facts  seriously  and  honestly,  but,  like  the  author 
of  the  "  Battle  of  Dorking,"  I  shuddered  at  my  own  narration. 

At  the  first  charge  of  the  battery,  bushels  of  oxydized  egg- 
shells, among  other  light  things,  came  to  the  surface — some  were 
empty,  some  with  the  yolks  petrified,  and  others  containing 
petriiied  chickens.  Meerschaum  pipes,  faded  to  a  pure  white, 
saturated  caddys  of  plug  tobacco,  old  Indian  blankets,  undissolved 
Schweitzer  kase,  and  bones  of  known  and  unknown  animals, 
were  now  thrown  to  the  top.  Old  salt  sacks,  marked  "  Dennis 
McCarty,  Syracuse;"  old  white  hats  ,  marked  "II.  Greeley;" 
calves'  feet  and  glue  in  undissolved  packages,  marked  "  P. 
Cooper  ;  "  and  old  bundles  of  Brick  Pomeroy's  Democrat,  bubbled 
to  the  top.  DREADFUL    DEVELOPMENTS. 

Everybody  was  startled. 

"  Turn  the  crank  again  }  "  said  Professor  Chandler  to  Senator 
Robertson,  who,  with  Professor  Agassiz,  had  charge  of  the 
battery. 

The  crank  turned.  Lightning  streaked  from  the  turning 
wheel,  and  flashed  luridly  around  the  tubing.  Losing  their 
specific  gravity,  and  floating  on  the  surface  were  old  hammers, 
horseshoes,  tin  pans,  kerosene  lamps,  coal  scuttles,  basins  of  soaj) 
grease,  brass  kettles,  case  knives,  German-silver  spoons,  lizards' 
teeth,  fish  hooks,  photograph  materials,  gimlets,  and  i)etrified 
human  skeletons,  which  sailed  on  the  water  like  Banquo's 
ghost.  All  day  these  dreadful  revelations  have  been  develoi)ing 
themselves.  Night  has  put  an  end  to  the  Professor's  labors,  and 
the  town  reposes  only  to  resort  to  the  spring  again  at  daylight. 
Colonel  Johnson  has  fled,  a  voluntary  exile,  to  Moon  Lake  ;  the 
Chesterfieldian  Hathorn  kicks  his  faithful  dog  Brave,  looks 
mournfully  into  his  »ew  Hathorn  spring,  and  trembles  at  the 
revelations  which  may  ruin  him  in  the  morning. 

William  Leland  is  a  raving  maniac,  and  Warren's  giant 
intellect  "  totters  to  its  fall,"  as  he  sings  and  whistles  a  listless 
air,  unmindful  of  the  coaches  loaded  with  new  guests  for  Congress 
Hall.  Charles  Leland  and  the  giddy  guests  of  the  Clarendon 
have  gone  into  mourning,  closed  the  blinds  of  the  aristocratic 
boarding-house  on  the  hill,  and  the  balcony  where  the  young 
gentlemen  were  wont  to  hold  the  hands  of  sweethearts,  and 
whisper  in  gentle  ears  the  lover's  siren  tale  of  love  and  hope,  is  a 
deserted  waste.  A  funeral  pall  has  fallen  over  this  once  happy 
village.     Beautiful  is  the  sublinre  resignation  of  the  peo[)le. 


"  I  knew  it  must  come  !  "  ?aid  the  heroic  Marvin,  the  hot-scald- 
in-  tears  rolling  down  his  manly  cheek  :  "  I  knew  this  devilish 
modern  science  would  find  us  out  some  time  ; "  and  then  he  went 
and  sat  down  among  the  crumbling  butments  of  the  old  United 
States — a  ruined  iiuxu  ! 

The  poor  villagers  seem  grief  stricken  at  the  hor- 
rible revelation.  '  Young  men  and  maidens  stand 
sobbing  upon  the  corners  of  the  deserted  streets, 
\Nhile  old  gray-headed  fathers  sit  buried  in  silent 
grief  No  word  of  hope  can  break  the  solemn  still- 
ness of  despair. 


—  •  — 


NO    WORD    OF    HOPE. 


J.  iMorrissey  walks  like  a  deserted  sentinel  up  and  down  by 
his  once  happy  club-house,  with  its  festive  board  deserted,  and  its 
laughter  and  its  songs  turned  to  grief  His  eagle  eye  is  dimmed 
with  tears,  and  turns  not  upon  his  once  happy  guest.s,  but  down 
upon  the  floors  of  deserted  halls.  We  know  not  what  another 
day  may  bring  forth. 

I  will  hasten  to  telegraph  the  result  to  the  Commercial  in  the 
morning.  Other  newspapers  are  evidently  bribed,  and  Captain 
Ritchie  as  yet  makes  no  allusion  to  the  astounding  facts  in  the 
Daily  Saratogian.     The  rest  to-morrow. 

70 


^1^ 


\\/ >l/ 

/  \ 

TRUTH  CRUSHED  TO  EARTH ! 


OUR  C0RRE3P0NDENT  EXPELLED. 


Congress  Hall,  Aug.  ist  (morning). 

Morning  dawns.  I  look  from  my  window  and  see  a  deserted 
village,  with  now  and  then  a  wandering  haggard  resident.  The 
women  and  children  are  gone,  but  a  set  of  desperate  men  are 
left.  They  have  seized  the  battery.  Professor  Chandler  is  miss- 
ing. The  Indians  have  cleared  away  the  last  vestige  of  yester- 
day's developments  and  Congress  spring  is  placid,  but  deserted. 
What  mean  these  groups  of  determined  men  .''  Why  do  they 
come  under  my  window  and  then  go  away  shaking  their  fists  ? 
I  do  not  like  this  place. 

I  think  I  shall  go  away — go  over  to  Ballston.  Ballston  is  a 
healthy  place — healthier  for  me  than  Saratoga.  No  one  urges 
me  to  stay  here. 

Evening,  Ballston  Spa. 

I  left  Saratoga  this  afternoon.  My  exposure  of  the  snakes  in 
Congress  spring  caused  even  more  dreadful  results  than  I,  in 
imagination,  pictured.  The  Coimnercial  was  published  in  New 
York  at  two  P.  M.  I  was  flooded  with  telegrams  from  the  City. 
My  friend  S.  W.  Coe,  telegraphed  : 

"  They  have  the  same  snakes  at  Richfield  and  Sharon. — but 
they  are  in  their  boots.     Leave  the  place." 

So  I  left. 

After  the  guests  of  all  the  hotels  had  fled,  some  of  the  oldest 
inhabitants  met  and  drafted  resolutions  invating  me  to  go  mcay. 

I  said  :  "  Gentlemen,  in  this  case  of  Congress  water  versus  the 
snakes,  I  aiti  retained  by  the  snakes^ 

One  venerable  gray-headed  resident  said  I  had  destroyeel  the 
confidence  of  a  confiding  village — that  I  had  destro)-e(.l  com- 
merce— the  foundation  stone  onto  which  the  village's  greatness 
had  rested  for  a  hundred  years.  "Go!"  he  said,  "before  you 
make  this  once  happy  village  a  howling  wilderness." 

I  said  "  Let  her  howl  ;  but  truth — everlasting  truth — " 


\ 


/ 


^i^  71  "^ 


INVITED    TO    GO  ! 


And  then  a  great  crowd  interrupted  me,  everybody  pressing 

his  warm  invitation  upon  me  to  leave — to  go  awa}' to  "  '^Innp  " 

They  even  packed  my  trunks  and  assisted  me  to  depart 

I  went. 


slope. 


I  am  here  in  Ballston— Ballston  with  its  mammoth  hotels  its 
blacksmith's  shop,  and  its  immense  printing  office  I  am  a 
wanderer  and  an  outcast— from  Saratoga.  I  am  a  victim  of 
misplaced  confidence— confidence  in  men.  My  exposure  of  the 
snakes  in  Congress  spring  did  not  result  as  I  expected  it  would 
It  struck  hard,  but  it  bounded  back,  and  /  had  to  leave  the  place 
The  women  believed  the  truth  at  first,  but  the  men  demoralized 
them. 

That  night-that  same-night,  after  the  expulsion  of  Professor 
Chandler-A  r    Marvin  and   Colonel  Johnson  deposited  in  the 

Tr",^^  ""-{JT  rf"  ""}  '^^^-  ^  '^^  ^^^"^  ^«  '^  f'-o"^  n^y  window. 
At  12,  Wm.  Le  and  appeared  at  the  spring.  He  raised  a 
glass  and  drank  like  one  athirst. 


72 


—  •  — 

/ 


"  By  gum  !  it's  the  same  old  tiling."  he  exclaimed,  and  then  he 
drank  sixteen  tumblers  full  and  fell  fainting  on  the  '^round 
Others  followed — Mr.  King  and  Mr.  Clements. 

Then  they  all  drank  again.  They  tele,;raphed  for  Majt)r 
Selover,  Henr>-  D.  Polhemus  and  Colonel  IJoody.  They  came 
and  drank.  They  .said  the\-  were  not  afraid  now  the  snakes 
were  gone. 

Far  from  rt. 

I  miss  Saratoga.  I  miss  the  morning  Germans.  1  miss  those 
pretty  girls  on  Congress  Hall  balcony  at  night.  1  miss  the 
genial  face  of  Mr.  Saxe,  the  handsome  Judge  Hilton,  the  vene- 
rable X'anderbilt.  my  woodcock  with  Colonel  Bridgeland  at 
Moon's.  I  miss  Mr.  Southgate's  2:41 -^^  hor.^^cs.  I  miss  the  in- 
structive sermons  of  Dr.  Strong's,  and  the  lovely  /htse  singing  of 
Dr.  Hamilton's.  I  miss  the  midnight  festive  whirl  at  the  Claren- 
don, its  aristocratic  gray-headed  matrons,  and  ceaseless  talk  of 
love  and  its  flirtations  on  the  balcony. 

I  may  return. 

I  can  return  if  I  cliaiige  my  name  and  deny  what  I  have  said. 

This  may  be  my  last  from  Saratoga.     Adieu  ! 


—  •  — 


71 


^1^ 


\ 


i— '  •  ' 


THE  EXILE'S  RETURN. 

Congress  Hall,  Aug.  3. 

I  arrived  from  Ballston  this  morning. 

Yesterday  the  Saratoga  Common  Council  met,  and  resolved  • 
that  I  should  remain  a  fugitive  until  I  changed  my  name  and 
renounced  my  snake  statement. 

I  did  not  exactly  like  Ballston.     It  was  too  quiet. 

The  Sf7us  SoHci  Hotel  there  is  remarkable  for  not  resembling 
Congress  Hall,  or  the  Sans  Sand  a.t  Potsdam. 

I  spent  the  entire  day  visiting  the  blacksmith  and  carpenter 
shops.  They  are  mammoth  structures.  They  have  a  spring 
there  called  the  Washington.  G.  Witshington  was  named  after 
it.  George  did'nt  run  often,  but  this  spring  runs  all  the  time. 
The  water  resembles  Saratoga  water,  though  it  is  not  so  bad. 
Snakes  are  seldom  seen  in  the  springs  there.  If  you  go  to 
Ballston  to  spend  the  summer,  1  should  advi.se  you  to  board  in 
Saratoga.  Ballston  is  too  healthy.  Chickens  and  tender  young 
lambs  never  die  there — though  some  of  the  young  ladies  do. 
One  young  lady  sang  in  the  parlor  of  the  Sans  Souci  last 
night  : 

"  Tis  sweet  for  one's  country  to  dye  ;  " 

and  the  next  morning  she  had  auburn  eye-lashes  and  golden 
hair  ! 

An  old  resident  said  Saratoga  was  once  located  at  Ballston, 
but  that  they  had  too  nnicJi  conscience  to  keep  it  there,  so  they 
removed  the  big  spring  here.  Ballston  received  its, name  j"rom 
the  immense  balls  which  they  used  to  have  at  the  City  Hotel 
there.  This  village  was  named  after  the  Daily  Saratogian.  They 
removed  the  .springs  over  from  Ballston,  so  that  the  guests  could 
be  here  to  read  the  paper. 

The  Saratoga  Common  Council,  with  Colonel  Johnson  and 
■Mr.  Marvin  at  the  head,  met  me  on  the  town-line  this  morning 
with  a  conditional  pardon  and  a  promise  of  official  protection  if  I 
would  sign  it.  I  was  sick  of  Ballston,  and  sighed  to  return  to 
Saratoga,  where  the  people  lead  a  religious  life  and  smoke  good 
cigars.     This  is  the  article  of  capitulation  which  I  signed  : 

I  hereby  certify  that  my  name  is  not  Lan but  Eli  Perkins,— that  I  did  not 

see  the  snakes  which  came  out  of  Congress  Spring,  and  that  I  was  not  acquainted 
with  the  man  who  did  see  them  when  they  came  out ! 

Eli  Perkins  ne  Lan . 

/_ 

74  ^N 


—  •  — 


S/ 


That  certificate  is  a  li — bcl,  but  I  had  to  sign  it  or  go  without 
my  woodcock  and  soft-shell  crabs — so  here  I  am  at  Congress 
Hall. 

I  am  happ}'  to  get  back,  The  young  men  who  smoke  good 
cigars  in  the  ofiice  of  Congress  Hall  whistled  "  Der  Kaiser  ist 
Da!"  as  I  came  uj)  the  steps.  Friends  gathered  around, 
shedding  tears  of  regret,  and  whispering  words  of  condolence  to 
Mr.  Hathorn.  1  went  directly  to  my  room,  and  feeling  in  a  .sad 
mood,  I  wrote  this  sermon  : — 

ELI  PERKINS'  SERMON. 

DEAR   DANCING   SISTERS  : 

There  are  two  ways  of  "  stunning" 
people  by  an  exhibition  of  taste,  and 
we  see  them  both  illustrated  daily  at 
Saratoga.  The  plebeian  "  stuns  " 
with  positive  colors,  yellow,  black, 
blue,  and  green  ;  with  powdered  hair, 
and  a  very  steeple  of  hair,  a  la  Pom- 
padour, projecting  from  the  ape.x  of 
the  head.  They  walk  or  hitch  along 
with  shoulders  bent  forward,  the 
upper  portion  of  the  arm  as  dead  and 
useless  as  if  made  of  gutta  percha. 
THE  PLEBEIAN  «  STUN."  whilc  thc  backs  of  their  wrists  become 

dangling  right  angles,  swinging  in  the  atr  like  P'ourth  of  July  pin- 
wheels.  They  hav-e  transformed  their  beautifully  curved  shoul- 
ders into  humped  backs,  until  deformed  Richard  III.  takes  the 
place  of  the  proud  Apollo. 

Why  do  not  these  dear,  silly  creatures  hold 
their  heads  proudi}"  erect,  and  throw  back 
their  beautiful  shoulders,  as  if  proud  to  carry 
the  face  of  Diana,  and  not  Avalk  as  if  borne 
down,,  like  Atlas,  with  a  ponderous  globe .' 
Why  do  they  not  hold  their  hands  and  arms 
gracefully,  as  if  posed  by  Canova,  and  not  as 
if  tied  by  a  policeman  .'  Look  at  the  shoul- 
ders of  St.  Catharine,  in  the  Sistine Madonna, 
see  how  proudly  .she  stands  .''  The  fickle  god- 
dess of  fashion — of  plebeian  fashion — has 
never  dared  to  enter  the  .sanctuary  of  the  ar- 
PATRICIA1  "STUN."  ^Ists  who  worship  at  the  shrine  of  the  beauti- 
ful and  the  true. 


75 


^1^ 


—  •  — 

\ 


THE    CONTRAST. 

There  is  another  type  of  womanhood  in  Congress  Hall — a 
patrician  t\-pe  which  comes  from  cultivation  and  generations  of 
good  blood.  She  wears  no  bright  colors.  Her  eyes  delight^  in 
subtile  symphonies — symphonies  in  music  and  color,  too.  She 
docs  not  wear  j'ellow,  and  blue,  and  scarlet — but  she  mingles 
them  together  as  the  painter  mingles  his  paints  on  his  pakttc, 
and  produces  a  warm  symphony  in  brow  n  or  drab— perhaps  the 
l(i\'el)'  pongee.  If  she  wears  blue,  she  puts  white  in  it,  making 
it  look  like  the  sky,  or  darkens  it  to  the  blue  of  the  ocean.  If 
she  wears  scarlet,  she  tones  it  down  with  blue  till  it  becomes 
maroon.-"  If  she  wears  chrome  yellow,  she  tones  it  down  with 
white  till  it  becomes  straw  color — always  a  .symphony. 

Her  shoulders  are  proudly  erect,  like  the  Venus  de  Medici, 
and  her  arms  rest  in  nature's  attitude,  like  the  arms  of  Thor- 
waldsen's  Graces — palms  to  the  front.  Her  hair  is  gracefully- 
dressed,  high  up  on  the  head,  to  .show  the  beautiful  curves  of  the 
neck  ;  and  not  stuffed  or  swelled  into  a  clumsy  globe,  to 
hang  like  a  dead  weight  down  upon  the  back.  In  the  end  she 
"  stuns  "  people  in  a  civilized  way — with  grace,  style  and  purit)-  ; 
while  the  plebeian  stuns  with  picturesque  colors,  deformed  shoul- 
ders and  flopping  hands. 

There  is  a  young  lady  at  Congress  Hall  so  graceful,  so  very 
stylish,  and  yet  so  plain  in  her  attire,  that  when  she  walks  across 
the  room  she  is  the  centre  of  attraction.  I  venture  to  say  that 
she  knows  more  of  art,  of  sculpture,  and  of  the  true  beauty  of 
form  and  style  and  color  than  all  the  plebeian  girls  in  the  house, 

AMONG   GENTLEMEN 

wc  see  the  same  idea  illustrated.  Yesterday  when  the  carriages 
came  up  I  saw  a  gilded  four-in-hand,  with  white  reins  and  coach- 
men in  yellow  liveries.  Everybody  looked  as  they  would  look 
at  a  row  of  peacocks  on  dress-parade,  for  the  turnout  was  a 
"  stunner  !"  By-and-by  up  came  an  English  drag,  jet  black, 
with  one  seventeen-hand  horse.  There  was  a  harness  for  utility, 
with  steel  buckles,  and  the  coachman  was  garbed  in  modest 
black.  It  was  a  "  swell  "  turnout,  but  the  owner  has  taste  and 
he  "  stuns"  with  a  rig  of  plain  and  simple  elegance. 

THE    NEWEST   SENSATION 
in  watering-place  costumes  (and  I  give  you  the  first  transatlan- 
tic wave)  is  the  Elizabethan  costume  in  Cretonne.     Some  call  it 
the  Dolly  Varden.     It  consists  of  light  or  dark  material  covered 
with    immense  bouquets,  variegated  figures,  and  flowers.      The 

^'^  Tt >k 


^l/_ : Nk 

material  looks  like  Major  De  Boot's  wall-paper.  It  is  looped  up 
over  a  dark  skirt  with  black  velvet  bows  and  garlands  of  varie- 
gated wild-wood  flowers  (artificial).  The  hat  is  a  Charles  II. 
chapeau,  made  of  fine  leghorn,  the  brim  lined  with  black  vcl\-et, 
and  cocked  up  on  one  side.  It  has  a  nobby  and  jaunt)-  air, 
carrying  you  back  to  the  time  of  Elizabeth  and  the  seventeen 
days'  tournaments  at  Kenilworth. 

THESE   CRETONNE    SUIT.S 

were  first  made  by  Worth  for  the  Erhpress  to  wear  to  the  Lung- 
champ  races  in  June  last  year,  before  King  William  thundered 
down  over  the  Bavarian  border.  Last  August  Mrs.  i^elmont 
appeared  with  a  suit  at  Newport  and  created  a  sensation. 

This  summer  I  notice  .several  suits  here  among  the  leading 
fashionables.  They  have  a  place — a  legitimate  place  at  the 
races,  where  gentlemen  wear  veils  and  feathers,  and  scarlet  neck- 
ties. 

t;ENTLEMEN'S    TOTEET.s 

at  Saratoga  are  about' thus  :  In  th*e  morning,  straw  hats  or  T\'- 
rolese  with  feather,  white  or  checked  suits  with  fancy  cravats. 

The  dinner  dress  or  afternoon  promenade  dress  of  our  jiwell 
fellows  is  light-drab  trousers,  double-breasted  English  frock  coat 
(black),  with  necktie  and  gloves  of  light  material  and  matching 
in  color.     Vest  white. 

Evening  Dress — Black  dress  coat,  vest,  and  trowsers,  white 
necktie  and  gloves,  and  crush  hat.  The  crush  hat  comes  very 
handy  here,  as  the  evening  hops  are  more  like  an  afternoon 
reception  in  the  city. 

DRESSINC;    AT    S.\RATOGA. 

There  is  not  so  much  dressing  among  the  nicer  people  here 
this  season  as  usual.  Of  course  ladies  have  their  regular  full- 
dress  toilets  for  the  Friday  evening  dress-balls,  but  during  the 
week,  in  the  morning  and  evening  and  at--dinners,  quiet,  subdued 
colors  predominate.  Many  of  our  best-dressed  ladies  lounge  in 
London  drab  pongee  suits  during  the  forenoon  and  go  into  nur^- 
lirs  grenadines  and  tarletans  in  the  evening.  Silk  skirts,  wilh 
French  embroidered  overskirts,  always  beautiful,  are  indulged 
in  by  those  who  have  been  abroad,  and  who  have  revelled  among 
the  beautiful  things  and  cheap  prices  at  the  Paris  Bon  Marclic. 


\ 


\ 


y/ 
/" 

BENCHES   IN   CONGRESS   SPRING   PARK. 


One  of  the  saddest  discomforts  to  young  lovers,  newly-married 
people,  and  young  gentlemen  who  desire  to  get  certain  young 
ladies  ''  o/i  the  string''  is  the  absence  of  benches  in  the  park. 
There  is  only  one  bench  where  two  people  can  sit  and  talk  in  the 
whole  inclos'ure.  This  bench  is  in  a  conspicuous  location  on  the 
hill,  commanding  all  the  approaches,  to  be  sure,  and  so  situated  as 
to  incur  no  very  quick  surprises  on  the  part  of  the  dog-in-the- 
manger  pirates  who  spend  their  time  watching  hand-holding 
bcaiix\  or  susceptible  bachelors,  always  on  the  point  of  proposing. 
Every  lover  in  Saratoga  knozvs  where  the  double  bench  is  situa- 
ted. Vou  will  always  see  it  occupied  morning,  noon,  and  night  ; 
while  hovering  around,  within  accessible  distance,  will  be  a  half 
dozen  couples  waiting  for  the  next  cJiance  to  sit  there. 

Yesterday  I  visited  the  bench  with  my  old  "statician" — a  crusty 
old  bachelor,  who  unseen  has  watched  this  bench  for  twenty  years. 
He  has  the  name  and  address  of  every  young  lady  and  every 
lover  who  have  held  hands  on  this  bench,  the  number  of  kisses 
stolen  or  given  aiuay,  and  the  names  of  the  stealer  and  the 
stealec.  He  showed  me  his  record  book.  Great  Heavens  !  What 
secrets  were  there.  What  a  flutter  it  would  cause  in  Congress 
Hall,  I  thought,  to  publish  them. 

STATISTICS. 

"  How  many  young  ladies  have  allow- 
ed their  hands  to  be  held  willingly  f"  I 
asked  of  the  "statician." 

"  1152,"  he  answered. 
"  How  many  unwillingly  .^" 
"  None. — Yes,  twenty  by  their 
husbands." 

"  How  many  unmarried  ladies 
have  been  kissed  there  V 
"  1 39 1  — all  ivillingly  } ' ' 
"  How    many   married  ladies    have 
been  kissed  there  willingly  }  " 
"  976 — mostly  by  young  lovers." 
"  How  many  wives  have  been  kissed 
ivillingly  by  husbands  t  " 


BROWNS    BOy. 


^1^ 


78 


-—  »  — 

/ 


"  482 — but  they  were  other  ladies'  husbands." 

"  Where  do  these  kissers  and  kissecs  mostly  conic  from  '" 

"  New  York  and  the  Clarendon. " 

"  What  gentlemen  have  occupied  this  bench  the  most  for  the 
last  ten  years  ? " 

My  statician  now  opened  his  book    mysteriously,   and    I   read 

the  names  :  W.  H.  C ,  J.   F ,  Mr.  G ves,   F.   L d, 

O r,  L stone, F Z ga,  C S th,  E.  A.' 

H d,  J.  C on,   P.  G nat,   F.  J son,  G.  L aw, 

F.  M an,  J.    S in,   O.   Ark urg  and    2200   others. — 

What  a  record  !  ! 

"  How  is  the  proper  way  to  occupy  this  bench  with  a  sweet- 
heart .'' "  I  asked. 

"  Never  tell  ?  " 

"  N-e-v-e-r  !." 

"  Well,  saunter  along  with  a  large  daily  newspaper,  spread  it 
over  four  laps,  holding  it  with  one  hand,  while  your  sweet-heart 
holds  it  with  the  other.  This  leaves  to  each  a  hand  free  under 
the  paper.  These  hands  will  naturally  seek  each  other,  and  there 
you  can  sit  and  defy  detection  from  the  most  observing.  Such 
cases  I  never  watch.     They  defy  detection." 

Now,  for  the  good  of  humanity,  for  the  benefit  of  .scolding 
husbands,  loving  brides,  spooney  lovers,  and  the  great  army  of 
flirters  at  Saratoga,  I  plead  for  more  benches  in  the  park — more 
seats  for  two  persons — more  seats  c/osc  together.  Then  love  will 
not  have  to  struggle  so  hard  for  a  manifestation — then  Cupid  will 
be  invited  to  the  shady  park  and  wedding  rings  will  make 
the  chief  commerce  of  Saratogra.     Amen. 


— » — 


^!^ 


79 


^1^ 


y.i. 


yv~ 


SARATOGA  AMUSEMENTS. 


CoNQRESS  Hall,  Aug.  4th. 

"  And  every  house  was  an  inn,  where  each  guest  was  welcomed  and  feasted,  " 

i.s  the  author  of  Evangeline  s  description  of  the  hospitable 
Acadian  village  of  Grand-Pre.  The  Saratogians  say  that 
Longfellow  had  just  returned  from  a  trip  to  Saratoga  when  he 
wrote  this,  and  that  he  got  his  inspiration  from  the  long  lines  of 
hotels  which  make  up  this  American  Wiesbaden. 

This    text    of 

Longfellow's  was 
once  given  tor  T. 
Buchanan  Read 
by  the  members 
of  the  Cincinnati 
Artists'  Sketch 
Club  to  illustrate, 
and  then  all  the 
artists  looked  at 
the  author  of  She- 
ridan's  ride  as 
much  as  to  say 
"  Now  we've  geven 
you  a  puzzler  !  " 

What    do    you 
think     the     artist 

AND  EVERY  HorsE  WAS  AX  INN . '  broua"ht  in  as  an 

illustration  t 

A  sketch  of  Crestline  with  two  trains  arriving  with  every  Jionse 
an  inn  and  every  body  whanging  a  dreadful  gong  and  shouting 
D-r-N-N-E-R  ! 

DlN-NER  !  ! 

Dinner  11 ! 


/IN 


80 


/f^ 


—  •  — 


£>:  passcDit,   let  me  tell  another  stun-  about  iIk-   arti^t-poct 
which  has  never  been  seen  in  print,- and  which  that  awful  j^ossipcr, 
Don   Piatt,   never  got-  hold   of.     It  shows  the  readiness  of  ihi 
most  acute  punster,  who  never  yet  lost  an  opportunit}-  of  sa\in 
a  good  thing, 

That  dear,  good  man,  James  Murdoch,  had  read  up  Read's 
reputation  as  the  author  of  "  Drifting  "  and  "  Sheridan's  Ride, 
until  the  dashing  General  invited  the  poet-artist  to  come  and 
see  him  in  New  Orleans, 

Phil,  was  "  running  the  town,"  then,  and  at  the  dinner  \s  hich 
he  gave  to  Read,  were  the  wit,  and  blood,  and  beauty  o\  the 
Crescent  City.  Puns,  irpartics,  and  sauc}-  anecdotes  held  carnival. 
It  was  Wallack  and  Miss  Jennings  in  the  "  Morning  Call,"  each 
strugghng  to  sa}-  the  very  best  thing.  It  was  after  the  third 
course,  and  the  gallant  Phil,  had  toasted  the  historian  of "'  the 
ride."  "  Now,"  says  Read  (holding  up  an  empty  bottle  of  sherr}-). 
"  this  is  sherry  done  (handing  it  to  the  waiter),  I  propose  to  jili 
sherry  done:''  (Phil.  Sheridan). 

When  Kirby  Smith  captured  General  Banks'  trains  of  ammuni- 
tion and  paper  collars  at  Shrieveport,  Albert  Pike  said  the 
Rebels  were  like  Pharaoh's  daughter — '"  t]ie\-  found  a  XxWXq profit  in 
the  rushes  on  the  Banks  ! 

Pike's  triangular  pun  was  almost  as  good  as  some  of  Read's 

Once  somebody  in  Cincinnati  asked  Read's,  ad\ice  about 
bu}ung  Frankenstein's  Niagara — a  doubtful  picture. 

"  Yes  "  said  Read,  "  I'd  go  by  (go  buy)  it,  if  I  were  in  \our 
place! " 

ONE   MOkL   JUKE 

and  I'll  get  to  my  Saratoga  amusement  part  :- 

Read  was  once  dining  at  the  Avriter's  sister's,  in  Cincinnati. 
The  handsome  General  Hooker  was  there,  and  Sherman  and 
Colonel  Loomis,  fresh  from  the  Nashville  fight,  with  uniforms  all 
begrimed  with  smoke  from  ninety -one  successful  cannons,  and 
Mrs.  General  Lander,  whose  husband  had  gi\-cn  up  hLs  life  at  Rich 
Mountain.  Mrs.  Lander  had  never  heard  the  poet  read  "  Sheri- 
dan's Ride."  So  the  book  was  gotten,  laid  down  by  Read's  plate, 
and  the  poet  was  importuned  to  read  "  the  ride." 

"  Do  read  it,  Mr.  Read — do  favor  Mrs.  Lander,"  said  ni}-  sister, 
and  General  Sherman  pushed  the  book  into  his  hands. 

"  I  wish  I  d\d  favor  Mrs.  Lander, '  said  the  poet  with  siiai'ihr 
in  niodo,  which  came  near  killing  General  Sherman. 


\ 


AMUSEMENTS. 

In  the  different  hotels  here  they  have  different  amusements. 

At  Dr.  Strong's,  the  temperance  water-cure  boarding-house, 
they  have  blessings,  prayers,  and  sermons,  daily.  Sometimes  Dr. 
Cuyler  narrates  how  the  Israelites  became  carpet-baggers  with 
Mo'scs  down  in  PIgypt— then  the  Hutchinsons  sing  a  psalm. 

At  Dr.  Ihunilt'on's— the  Crescent — they  keep  a  sort  of  High 
Church  hotel.  They  sing  more  psalms  and  worse  psalms  there 
every  day  than  tliey  do  on  Sunday  on  a  negro  plantation  in 
Louisiana.  But  they  Iiave  some  good  sermons,  to  make  up. 
Last  Saturday,  Dr.  Hamilton  discoursed  on  "  How  to  live  a  long 
life."  He  s.iys  the  way  to  do  it  is  to  drink  Hathorn  water  and 
board  at  //is  liotd.  Dr.  Wright  examined  heads  during  the 
evening,  I  have  not  heard  the  result.  Dr.  Leyburne,  of  Bal- 
timore, preaches  a  good  deal,  and  sings  bass  beautifully. 

At  the  American  Hotel  they  have  sixteen  Catholic  priests  who 
only  eat  meat  four  times  a  day  at  the  hotel  and  once  down  at 
Moon's,  They  are  great  lovers  of  woodcock  and  spring  chicken 
on  the  sly.  After  dinner  you  can  count  sixteen  jolly  red  faces 
on  the  back  balcony,  all  sm.oking  clay  pipes  and  telling  amusing 
anecdotes. 

At  the  Grand  Union  the  guests  all  arise  at  8  A.  M,,  go  down 
to  Congress  Spring  and  imbibe,  then  come  back  and  look  at  A. 
T.  Stewart,  the  handsome  Judge  Hilton,  and  Judge  Barnard's 
hat  ;  then  they  all  shake  hands  with  William  Leland.  Then 
comes  a  promenade  up  to  the  Indian  encampment,  dinner,  music 
on  the  balcony,  a  ride  over  to  Moon's,  and  then  they  all  ^o  into 
the  ball-room. 

At  the  Clarendon  they  all  sit  on  the  balcony,  look  prim,  form 
cliques  and  cut  every  body.  Sometimes  they  discuss  pedigrees 
and  incomes,  then  listen  to  the  Clarendon  band — the  hand  organ, 
or  watch  the  shooting  gallery  and  the  revolving  horses. 

ELI    PERKINS   PREACHES   ON    PRICES. 

A  good  deal  is  said  and  written  about  watering-place  prices, 
but  every  one  will  admit,  on  sober  reflection,  that  prices  here  are 
less  than  they  are  in  New  York. 

Take  the  question  of  carriages: — In  New  York  you  pay  $5  for 
a  two-horse  barouche  ride  around  the  park.  Here  you  get  a 
very  neat  span  of  horses  for  an  afternoon  ride  around  the  Lake 
for  the  same  amount,  and  a  horse  and  buggy  for  $3.  The  Sara- 
toga liveries  are  certainly  very  neat  and  comfortable  affairs  too. 
Your  barber  charges  five  cents  more  for  a  shave  here,  and  vou 
_\  I 

^h  82 


^\~ 


pay  five  cents  more  for  a  New  York  paper  than  at  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel.  You  ride  to  the  Lake  and  back  for  25c.  in  an 
omnibus,  and  over  to  the  Gey.scr  for  20c  When  we  think  that 
the  barber  has  only  six  weeks  to  work  in,  after  the  ^^reat  expense 
of  coming  from  New  York,  and  see  the  newsman's  trouble  and 
frequent  losses  on  newspapers — these  little  extra  char<;cs  arc 
explained  and  justified. 

FEEING   WAITERS. 

In  regard  to  feeing  waiters,  I  do  not  see  much  of  it.  I  deem 
it  entirely  unnecessary  to  the  procurement  of  a  quick  and  satis- 
factory meal  at  Congress  Hall  ;  and  the  payment  of  a  douus  to 
the  colored  boy  is  a  mere  matter  of  fancy  on  the  part  of  the 
guest.  Mark,  I  say  it  is  simply  a.  fa/icy  and  not  a  svw  qnd  iiou. 
It  may  be,  and  I  think  it  is  a  fancy,  both  gratifying  to  the  waiter 
and  to  the  guest  to  now  and  then  gladden  his  eyes  with  a  sub- 
stantial reward.  "  Gratitude  is  a  lively  sense  of  favors  to  come," 
says  Dr.  Holmes,  and  this  is  the  feeling  which  makes  us  all 
work,  love  our  neighbors,  and  pray  the  big  prayers  of  our  faith. 

The  extravaganza  of  "  Saratoga, "  as  played  at  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Theatre,  and  everybody  here  will  have  it  that  I  am  the 
identical  Mr.  Lewis — I  say  this  extravaganza,  with  the  feeing  of 
waiters  and  all,  was  accepted,  not  because  it  was  true,  but  be- 
cause it  was  cleverly  told. 

A  cleverly-told  thing  is  as  good  as  a  true  one.  How  many 
times  we  have  called  the  Germans  transcendentalists,  when  they 
are  in  reality  the  most  matter-of-fact  people  in  the  world.  Their 
religion  is  based  on  absolute  reason.  They  will  have  no  Juanhng 
in  music,  painting,  or  war.  Then,  too,  we  have  listened  to  the 
clever  stage  Yankee  and  the  blustering  Southerner,  with  bowie 
knife  and  a  bandit  hat — both  characters  which  do  not  exist  at 
present.  Again,  we  have  noticed  the  common  error  of  calling 
tiie  women  of  extreme  Southern  climes  more  hot-headed  and 
passionate  than  those  of  more  Northern  latitudes.  This  is  a 
mistake,  for  I  have  seen  five  times  as  much  passion  among  the 
ladies  of  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow  as  I  have  seen  in  the  hot 
climates  of  Leghorn,  Rome,  Marseilles  and  Madrid.  The  North- 
men consume  more  oxygen,  more  oil,  more  fat,  while  the  South- 
men  live  on  cool  fruits  and  vegetables.  In  the  North  the  people 
drink  brandy.  Burgundy,  whiskey,  rum  and  gin — fearful  en- 
genderers  of  passion,  while  in  the  South  they  imbibe  light  sour 
wines,  clarets,  the  RJiein-heimers,  or  champagne,  which  in  itself  is 
the  greatest  passion-slayer  among  liquids.  So  when  they  talk 
of  high  prices  here,  they  speak  from  force  of  habit  and  because 


\ 


\'/ 


beUcv 


thcni. 


luivc  been   so  often  and  so  cleverly  told 


noViS    ON    TUB    K.VOXES. 


HATS. 


As  the  guests  came  out  from 
dinner  to-day,thcre  wasa  good  deal 
of  mixing  up  of  hats  on  the  rack. 

*'*  I've  lost  my  new  hat,"  said 
Juge  B complaining  to  the  hat- 
boy. 

"  What  kind  of  a  hat  was  it  ?  '* 
asked  the  boy. 

"  It  was  a  white  felt  Dunlap." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  the  boy,  "  this 
is  too  late  in  the  day  for  Dunlaps. 
Dun  laps  were  out  an  hour  ago. 
We're  now  on  the  Amadons  and 
Youmans.  Have  One  ?  Better  take 
it,  for  we'll  be  down  to  the  Knoxes 
in  a  few  moments  and  then  will 
come  those  mean  Cincinnati  and 
Chicago  hats." 

The  boy  has  been  arrested. 


ELI    IS   LAN- 


Thc  Ddi/y  Sanitogiaii  says  to-day, — "  It's  OUT  !  His  alias  is 
"  Lan."  His  /'<v?/ name  is  Eli  Perkins,  of  Litchfield,  Connecticut. 
The  old  sexton  smoked  him  out  and  came  in  and  told  us,  and 
now  he  signs  his  letters  to  the  Commercial  with  his  genuine  sig. 
"  Lan  "  is  a  little  more  liquid  (no  reference  to  the  Moon-Con- 
gress-Sprinfj-Ballston  affair),  more  euphonious-like.  We  believe 
the  Perkinses  claim  to  have  come  over  in  the  Sunflower." 

KISSKS  ARK  LIP-TICKLKS. 


84 


^♦\ 


nI/ 


si/ 

—  ♦  — 

\ 


'^r.^'-f^^ 


"'^i^'^^ 
'"4^'ijjfc'^*"* 


Congress  Hall,  Aug.  5. 
et  me  paint  you  some  pic- 
tures to-day. 

I    sec    them    all    around    me. 

The  fickle  Goddess    of     Fashion 

reigns,    but  she    cannot    change  the 

goodness  of  the  human  heart.     In  the 

mazes  of  the  dance,  1  see  brave  men  with 

hearts  to  love  and  pray,  Christian  mothers 

all  aglow  with  the  smiles  of  Heaven,  children 

with  beautiful,   angel    faces,   and    babes    in 

ai-ms,  sweet  roses  born  from  the  bosom  of 

Divinity. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  CMRISTLAN. 
One  of  the  sweetest,  prettiest  incidents  of 
our  watering-place  life  is  enacted  daily  at 
the  Clarendon.  While  the  thoughtless 
watering-place  throng  sways  in  and  out  of 
the  great  dining-room,  and  the  endless  clat- 
ter of  tongues  and  cutlery  seems  to  drown 
every  holy  thought,  a  venerable  silver-haired 
old  gentleman  walks  slowly  in  at  the  head 
of  his  Christian  family,  and  takes  his  .seat  at 
the  head  of  the  table.  Instantly  the  laugh- 
ing faces  of  a  table  full  of  diners  assume  a 
reverential  look.     The  knives  and  forks  rest 


85 


/ 


silently  on  the  tabic,  and  the  beautiful,  silver-frosted  Christian, 
with  clasped  hands,  modestly  murmurs  a  prayer  of  thanks — a 
sweet  benediction  to  God  !  The  scene  lasts  but  a  moment,  but 
all  day  long  that  hallowed  prayer  of  the  Christ-child  seems  to 
float  in  the  air,  guiding,  protecting,  and  consecrating  the  thought- 
less army  of  wayward  souls. 

I  could  not  find  out  who  this  brave  old  Christian  was  :  but  last 
night  his  name  came  all  at  once.  A  lovely  woman,  w  ith  her  beau- 
tiful children,  arose  early  from  her  seat  at  the  Congress  Hall  hop, 
to  return  to  the  Clarendon. 

"Why  do  you  go  so  early,  Mrs.  Clark.?"  asked  a  fashionable 
lady  friend. 


,  •,  "Oh,  you  will ' 

'  laugh  at  me  if  I 

tell  you — now  really, 

my  dear;  won't  you  .-*" 

"  No,  unless  you  make  nle,' 

replied  her  friend.     And  th^n 

she   leaned  Forward   and   Wfljs- 


"^red- 


'wi\ 


'*  Well,  my  dear,  you  know  1  sMpi 
at*  the  Clarendon.     My  room  i^  neMf 
to  that  dear,  good  old   man's,  and  h~e 
doe^  pray  so  beautifully  every  night  tliat 
|<n£el  down  by  /lis  door  with  the  chil- 
reii  to  hear  him^  and  then  I  go  to  l;?ed, 
^  happy,  for  I  know  nothing  can  /Ik^-yV^^^  ^ 
'ft  to  us  when  we  are  so  tiear\\\mT-^:\m^^ 
iilllj    Wiping  a  tear  from  her  eye,  the  frien®(^^ 
jjUjl k^id,  "  Let  me  go  with  you  !"  and  right  ^^ 
//;  I  /;(  in  the  middle  of  the  lancers,  these  warm- 
souled  women,,  with  their  children,  walk-, 
ed  to  the  Clarendon  to  sit  in  the  neJ^t 
room    and    hear    the    evening/y/amily 
prayer  of  good    old    Richard^^/^pydani, 


of  West  Twenty-ninth  stfeej^^=^  ,'V:///Vj,))r/-v 
I  have  since  learned  that  Mr.  Stiywi^^^W/  ^ 
has  educated  three  minis,teijS,Hui(i  start edNS^W^V 
a  great  many  poor  ^y^t^ji^^ijjlhy  J'oung^^jfe-"'' 
men  in  business.  -He  is  veTy  wealth}'-,    '  i 
but  spends  only  one-third  of  his  income, 
dcvotin<i  the  rest  to  chariiv. 


^i\ 


86 


^1^ 


\\y : b\C 

7 V 

FULL-DRESS    BALL   AT   CONGRESS    ILVLL. 

The  first  large  full-dress  ball  is  Jioiv  g-oi/ig  o/i  at  Congress  Hall. 
The  bridge  is  beautifully  ornamented  with  colored  lights,  and 
Bernstein  is  not  piping  the  times  of  peace,  but  piping  the  pieces 
a  good  many  times. 

Among  the  representative  matrons  present  are  Mrs.  James 
Brooks,  Mrs.  Gen.  Greene,  Mrs.  Larz  Anderson  of  Cincinnati  ; 
Mrs.  Shoenberger  of  Pittsburg,  Mrs.  A.  T.  Stewart,  Mrs.  Wm. 
Wall  of  Fifth  Avenue,  Mrs.  Crouse  of  Syracuse,  Mrs.  Dr.  Ball  of 
Bg^on,  and  Mrs.  De  Witt  who  built  the  memorial  church  in 
Albany. 

MARRIED   LADIES   WITH    BEAUTIFUL   CHILDREN. 

In  this  list — and  what  is  more  beautiful  than  a  beautiful  mo-  • 
ther  .'' — come  Mrs,  S.  W.  Coe,  of  East  Forty-second  street,  with 
three  little  heavenly  smiles  ;  Mrs.  Yates  of  Newark,  with  rosy- 
cheeked  daughters  ;  Mrs.  Colonel  Bridgeland,  with  her  daughter, 
a  liquid-eyed  brunette  ;  Mrs.  Eby,  with  two  daughters  and  a  baby 
as  pretty  as  Raphael's  angel — np  stairs.  I  also  see  those  two 
beautiful  blonde  mothers,  Mrs.  C.  H. -Buckley  of  Park  Avenue, 
the  mother  of  that  sweet  little  cherub,  Gracie  E.  ;  and  Mrs. 
Davis  of  the  Everett  House,  the  mother  of  that  little  angel. 
Flora,  whom  all  the  ladies  say  is  "just  too  sweet  for  anything  !" 
Present  also  are,  Mrs.  Tenny,  with  pretty  Miss  Florence  Bissell, 
of  Fifth  Avenue,  and  the  handsome  Pelham  ;  Mrs.  Baker,  Mrs. 
McPhail,  Mrs.  Ouintard,  Mrs.  R.  H.  Arkenburg,  of  East  Twenty- 
second  street,  with  Miss  Bowers  of  Wilmington  and  Miss  Belle 
Hendrickson  of  Albany  ;  Mrs.  Joseph  Harker  and  Mrs.  George 
Opdyke  ;  also  Miss  Lewis,  now  Mrs.  Frank  Moran  ;  Mrs.  Charles 
Wall  of  Park  Avenue,  with  the  bright  little  boys,  the  general  pets 
of  everybody  ;  Mrs.  Allen  of  Milwaukee,  with  her  accomplished 
adopted  daughter  ;  Mrs.  N.  H.  Decker  of  Fifth  avenue,  who 
loves  other  people's  children  ;  Mrs.  De  Eorest,  Mrs.  W.  H.  Hul- 
burt  of  Cincinnati,  with  her  daughter,  one  of  the  golden-haired 
graces  ;  Mrs.  Colonel  Rush  Hawkins  ;  Mrs.  Harvey  Kennedy, 
wife  of  the  Wall  street  banker  ;  Mrs.  Hariot  of  West  Twenty- 
third  street,  with  her  daughter.  Miss  Norma  ;  Mrs.  Sheriff 
O'Brien,  Mrs.  Bates  of  Riverdale,  with  three  rosy-cheeked  daugh- 
ters and  a  beautiful  little  angel  of  a  boy,  upstairs  ;  Mrs.  Thomas 
of  Rhittenhouse  Square,  Pa.,  with  daughters.  Miss  Lillieand  Miss 
Virginia  ;  Mrs.  John  G.  Saxe,  with  Miss  Sallic  Saxe ;  the  gifted 
Mrs.  Samuel  G.  Courtney,  Mrs.  Williams  of  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel,  and  Mrs.  J.  S.  T.  Stranahan,  who  ranked  with  Mrs.  Hoff- 
man, Emma  Willard,  and  Madame  Mcars,  as  a  teacher  of  women. 

^ : c 


.  I  / \i^ 

'-, ;  N 

Among  beautiful  babies  are  little  Julia  Watson  Southgate, 
Gracey  Huckley,  Madge  Hey  ward  Breslin,  Baby  Eby  and  Baby 
Bates. 

Among  married  ladies  are:  Mrs.  Commodore  Vanderbilt,  Mrs. 
R.  H.  Southgate,  Mrs.  Joseph  C.  Mills,  and  Mrs.  B.  F.  Beekman, 
of  East  Forty-fourth  street,  with  Mi.^?Emma  L.  Croxson. 

Among  the  most  accomplished  widow  ladies  are  Mrs.  Mary 
Whitney  of  Irving  Place,  sister  of  Mrs.  Gulagcr,  the  charming 
singer  ;  and  Mrs.  T.  L.  Henry  and  Mrs.  Brinkerhoff,  so  well 
kn<:>\vn  and  beloved  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel. 

Among  charming  young  ladies  are  Miss  Julia  Groesbeck, 
daughter  of  Hon.  W.  S.  Groesbeck,  of  Cincinnati  ;  Miss  Julia 
Gould  of  Buffalo,  Miss  Celia  Wall  of  Fifth  avenue,  Miss  Brown 
of  Providence,  Miss  P'reelinghuysen  of  New  Jersey,  the  Misses 
Hilton,  daughters  of  Judge  Hilton  ;  Miss  Morgan,  daughter  of 
Homer  Morgan  ;  Miss  Ada  Burr,  Miss  Marvin,  daughter  of  the 
Hon.  James  M.  Marvin  ;  Miss  May  Tewkesberry  of  New  York, 
and  Aliss  I'annic  Hicks  of  Troy. 

That  beautiful  quartette  of  girls,  beautiful  with  girlish  naivety 
and  beginning  womanhood,  are :  Miss  Florence  Bissell,  Mi.ss 
Carrie  Baker,  Miss  Laura  Williams,  and  Miss  Irene  Stewart. 

Among  the  beaux  this  year  are  Mr.  James  Brady,  Mr.  Edward 
S.  Sanford,  Mr.  John  Henry  Keene,  Mr.  Oliver  Arkenburg,  Mr. 
Cunningham,  son  of  Paymaster  Cunningham  of  the  navy  ;  Mr. 
I'Ved.Zeriga,  Mr.  Eugene  Sanger,  Charles  Smith,  Mr.  Millan 
I'almer,  Mr.  Durant,  Mr.  Baker  Mr.  Andrews,  Mr.  Bailey,  Mr. 
Vernon,  Mr.  Hatch  (leader  of  the  German),  Mr.  Baylis,  Mr. 
Rockenbaugh,  Mr.  Bates  of  Riverdale,  Mr.  Parks,  Mr.  Thorn, 
Mr.  Fanning,  Mr.  John  Sniffin,  Mr.  Gimbernat,  Mr.  Burras,  Dr. 
Verona,  Mr  James  Prend-ergast  of  Jamestown,  Mr.  Frank  Moran 
the  great  American  traveller  ;  Mr.  P'rank  Lord,  with  his  dashing 
tandem  team;  Mr.  J.  A.  Hinckley,  and  Mr.  Alfred  Claggett. 

Eli  Perkins  ;//  Lan . 


/w 


88  ^1^ 


— —  •  — 

/ 


xl/ 


THE    OLD    SEXTON. 


LOVE  IN  A  GRAVEYARD. 

Aug.  6. 
To-day  I  left  tlic  wliirling  Ger- 
man of  Congress  Mall  -and  walked 
dreamily  out  to  the  edge  of  Sara- 
toga —  to  the  village  graveyard, 
where  rest  the  bones  of  a  genera- 
tion of  Saratogians  gone. 

The  graveyard  is  a  beautiful  spot, 
filled  with  winding  walks  and  shad)' 
trees  overhanging,  now  and  then,  an 
inviting  seat. 

A  few  yards  from  the  gate  I  met 
the  cheerful  face  of  Frederick  Palmerston,  the  village  Se.xton. 
As  I  approached  him  he  sang  and  whistled  like  the  grave-digger 
in  Hamlet. 

"This  is  rather  a  serious  place,"  1  said,  as  the  old  Sexton 
looked  up  from  his  grave. 

"  Serious  !  wal  not  so  very  serious  either,"  he  repeated,  leaning 
forward  on  his  spade  and  knocking  his  pipe  against  the  handle. 
"You  are  too  early  in  the  day  for  the  fashionable  fun." 

"What  fashionable  fun — out  here  among  the  graves,  my  good 
man — what  do  you  mean  .''" 

"  I  mean  you   are  too  early  in  the  day  to  see  the  fashionable 
people  who  come  out  here.     The   fashionable  hour  is  at  five   in 
the  afternoon — then  you  will  see  the  fun." 
"  What  fun  .''"  I  asked,  becoming  interested. 
"Why,  the  flirting  and  the  love  scenes.     You  know  there  are 
no-double  seats  in  the  park,  a-nd  the  hotel  balconies  are  too  con- 
spicuous, so  the  handsome  city  girls  and  fellows  come  out  here 
to  make  love  on  my  benches.     I  suppose  a  great  many  engage- 
ments take  place  here  every  year — more  than  at  the  big  hotels." 
"  What  do  vou  do  about  it  ?" 


\  _ 


89 


'M  V.I  ■  yt.  i. . 


"Oil,  nothin^^  only  I  have  to  look  out  and  see  that  the  young 
people  don't  occupy  the  seats  too  long  while  some  old  persons 
may  be  standing  up.  Tm  the  last  man  to  disturb  a  loving 
couple.  It  goes  against  the  grain,  it  does,  for  I  was  once  young 
my.self,  and  I  used  to  like  the  girls  as  well  as  anybody." 

"I  did  a  thing  yesterday,  which  fairly  made  my  heart  ache," 
continued  the  old  Sc.xton,  wiping  his  forehead  with  his  handker- 
chief 

"  What  was  it .'"  I  asked. 

"Well,  " 
continued  the 
old  Sexton, 
as  he  put  one 
foot  up  on  his 
spade  and 
leaned  hi  s 
elbow  on  the 
handle,"there 
came  up  as 
handsome  a 
fellow  and  as 
purty  a  girl 
a  s  you  ever 
see.  She  was 
dressed  beau- 
tiful, and  he 
was  very  at- 
tentive.  I 
'sp  ect  they 
came  from 
the  Claren- 
don." 

"What  did 
they  do  r  I 
asked,  be- 
coming im- 
patient. 

"  They  walked  arm-in-arm,  both  talking  in  a  low  tone  ;  then 
they  went  and  sat  on  the  bench  under  that  tree,  near  the  tomb 
with  the  clam  shell.     T  saw  them,  but  I  let  on  that  I  didn't.    He 


\ 


IF    OOD    DI'*    N-OT    WAXT    US    TO    KLSS     WHAT    DID    HE    MAKE    OUR 
LIPS    FOR? 


90 


\»/ 


was  very  sweet  on  her,  and  I  knew  there  was  some  love  busines.s 
going  on.  By-and-by  some  old  ladies  came  along  and  asked 
me  if  I  couldn't  give  them  a  seat.  I  hated  to  disturb  the  loving 
couple,  but  I  had  to  ;  so  I  walked  along  up  behind  them  and 
sort-a-grunted — 

"  '  AJiem  !  Ah-hcin  !  ' 

Lord  !  you  ought  to  have  seen  him  start  and  take  his  arm 
from  around  the  pretty  girl.  Her  cheek  was  close  to  his,  and 
their  lips  were — well,  I  couldn't  see  them  at  all.  And  then  how 
they  blushed — crimson  and  scarlet ! 

" '  I  beg  pardo'n,'  he  stammered,  but  he  needn't  a-donc  so,  and 
she  needn't  a-blushed  so  either  ;  'taint  no  more  than  twenty 
fashionable  couples  do  here  every  day.  It's  all  right,  too.  If 
God'  didn't  want  us  to  love,  and  didn't  want  an  honest,  whole- 
souled  fellow  to  kiss  a  girl,  what  did  He  make  their  lips  for  ? 

"I  hate  this  darned  new- 
fangled    French     nonsense 
that  people  musn't  love  till 
they    become    engaged    or 
married.     How  in  the  world  is  a 
fcilovv  to  fall    in   hn^e   till   he   has 
kissed  his  sweetheart  }  "     And  the 
old    Sexton   went   on,    at  length, 
moralizing    about    the    change    in 
society   since   the   time   of  our   fore- 
fatheis — when  true  love  showed  itself, 
not    in     $35     bouquets — in    heartless 
flirtations,    and    distant    handkerchief 
wavings,  but  when  the  lover  put  a  red 
rose  ill  the  hair  of  his  loved  one,  antl 
placed  the  crimson  seal  of  honest  love 
upon  her  rosy  lips,  murmuring,  "  My 
chosen,  God  willing,  we  will  never  part  ! " 


^1^ 


91 


/|\ 


^___ >»/ 

"Why."  said  the  old  Sexton,  as  \vc  strolled  off  among  the 
tombstones,  "these  fashionable  people  rest  squarely  in  each 
other's  arms  in  their  ne\v-f:^ngled  dances— he  holds  his  arm 
around  her— her  swelling  bosom  to  his,  and  her  hand  in  his  !  In 
my  time  we  would  have  been  ashamed  to  do  these  things  before 
;i  room  full  :  but  it  makes  no  difference,"  said  the  old  Sexton, 
mournfull)-  ;  "  young  people  witJi  hearts  to  love  will  get  together 
sumehow  or  other,  and  it  don't  make  any  difference  whether  they 
come  together  in  these  Congress  Hall  round  dances  or  here  w/ 
;;/)'  beiie/tes  in  the  graveyard  !  " 

EPITAPHS. 

The  tombstone  epitaphs  of  the  ancient  Saratogians  are  too 
amusing  to  escape  a  history. 

••  Come  with  me,"  said  the  old  Sexton,  "  and  I'll  show  you 
some  fun  here  among  the  tombstones.  This,"  said  he,  pointing 
to  a  small  stone  on  which  was  cut  a  picture,  of  a  portable  engine, 

'•  this   was  erected   by   Mr. ,   whose  son   was    killed   by    the 

explosion  of  his  engine." 

The  funny  verse  below  reads  : 

"  My  engine  now  lies  cold  and  still, 
No  water  does  her  boiler  fill  ; 
Wood  attbrds  it  flame  no  more, 
My  days  of  usefulness  are  o'er." 

\Vc  next  came  to  a  stone  on  the  top  of  which  was  an  immense 
clam  or  o)-.ster  shell,  with  the  clam  or  o}-ster  "gone,  as  I  thought, 
to  designate  the  flight  of  the  soul. 

"  What  does  it  mean  .' "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  Ransom  Cook,"  said  the  old  Sexton,  "was  a  good  sea 
captain,  and  some  say  he  is  quite  a  philosopher.  He  says  the 
clam  matures,  opens  and  is  then  eaten  up  by  some  larger  fish, — 
and  that  would  be  the  end  of  us  all  ;  and  he  sticks  to  his  faith  to 
the  end.  He  had  this  clam-shell  cut  in  marble  for  his  tomb- 
stone. Some  people  say  this  means  that  '  lie  is  happy  as  a  clam  !  ' 
but    I   don't   know.     He  ought  to   be  happy,  for  he's   a  good 

_ /^ 

^^  92  /f^ 


citizen,    and     cverybod)'    in    Sarato-^a     loves    liini.     \'ou   know- 
Ransom  isn't  dead  yet." 

The  next  epitaph  was  erected  to  l.nima  A.,  daiit^hter  of 
Abram  Cox.  and  wife  of  Theodore  Schallehn,  who  married 
against  her  father's  will.  On  her  death,  Abram  Cox  inscribed 
upon  lier  tombstone — 

"  She  died  leaving  five  children, 
She  married  too  young  again.st  lier  father's  will  ; 
Single  women,  take  warning  !  " 

This  epitaph  caused  a  good  deal  of  family  difficult)',  when  one 
day  her  late  husband,  who  thought  the  epitaph  reflected  upon 
him,  took  away  the  stone,  and  had  inscribed  upon  it  : 

"  She  died  leaving  5  lovely  children 
To  mom'n  her  untimely  loss." 

This  one  is  very  pretty  and  tells  a  tale  of  love  and  grJef : 

"  We  miss  our  smiling  little  one. 
But,  0  God !  'Thy  will  be  done.'  " 

The  next  was  an  old  crumbling  tombstone,  perhaps  a  century 

old,  and  reads  : 

"  70  years  a  maiden, 

1  year  a  wife, 

2  months  a  mother, 
And  that  took  her  life." 

Here  comes  a  sturdy  Puritan  epitaph  : 

"  Here  lies 
A.  DEDKICK, 

A  sinner  saved  by  God  '.  " 

Here  is  the  epitaph  to  two  babies  : 

"  Here  lie  two  babies,  side  by  side  : 
Of  the  small-pox  both  qMhem  died. 
Their  ages  were  suven  and  nine- 
Prepare  to  meet  your  God  in  time." 

What   a  sweet   epitaph   has  old   Cruger  Walton  i)laced  upon 

the  tombstone  of  his  wife  !    It  is  like  Claudes  description  of  his 

Alpine  Home  : 

•'  There's  not  an  hour 
Of  day  or  dreaming  nightj  but  T  am  with  thee  , 
There's  not  a  wind  but  whisi)ev.s  of  tliynami!, 
And  not  a  flower  that  sleeps  beneath  tlie  moon. 
But  in  its  hues  or  fragrance  tells  a  tale 
Of  thee—" 

_\ 

^h  93 


xl/ 


\ 

—  •  — 


—  •  — 

\ 

On  an  oki   Dutch  stone,  under  the  name  of  Jacob  Veder.  is 

written  : 

"  Herf  lifs  my  father  Dan, 
Who  hft  three  thildrtu  to  do  the  best  they  can." 

AHce  Harvey  puts  up  this  quaint  inscription  to  her  sister  : 

"  Farewell,  my  dear  father. 
The  Lord  bids  me  come  ; 
Likewise  my  dear  mother, 
'Tig  now  I'm  gone  home. 
May  her  soul  rest  in  peace — amen  I  " 

A   lady  friend,  at  Congress  Hall,  says  this  epitaph  is  in  the 
graveyard,  but  I  failed  to  find  it  : 

"  Her&lies  the  wife  of  Robert  Ricular, 
He  walked  the  way  of  God  perpendicular." 

This  epitaph  will  be  seen  near  the  front  entrance  ; 

"  Libbie  grew  tired  and  cried  for  rest — 
iSuch  rest  on  earth  is  never  known  ; 
One  night  she  sank  on  Jesus'  breast, 
And  passed  away  without  a  groan." 

In   the  old  churchyard   up  by  the  railroad,   somebody   says, 
is  this  inscription  : 

"  We  can't  have  everj'  thing  to  please  us. 
Little  Johnny's  gone  to  Jesus." 

Some  wag  from  the  Clarendon  wrote  in  pencil  underneath  : 

<'  You  sometimes  always  cannot  tell, 
Maybe  Johnny's  gone  to  H alifax." 

Here  is  the  epitaph  of  a  patriot,  who  died  in  Hooker's  charge, 
at  Fredericksburg : 

CAPTAIN  LUTHER  M.  WHEELER. 
Co.  C.  77th  Regiment,  N.  Y.  S.  M. 

Balled  storming  Fredericksburg  Heights. 

Ah !  many  graves  are  tilled  with  men 

Who  lived  full  three-score  years  and  ten  ; 

Yet  were  their  deeds  so  few  and  small, 

In  fact,  they  never  lived  at  all. 

But  Wheeler  sprang  to  take  the  blows 

Aimed  at  his  country  by  her  foes- 
He  fought  and  fell  for  truth  ; 

0  let  the  thought  our  grief  assuage — 

In  noble  deeds  he  lived  an  age. 
Then  nobly  died  in  youth. 
Aged  22  j-ears. 

94  ^N 


/ 


Mere  is  an  epitaph  put  up  by  the  wife  of  a  hosier  : 

"He  left  his  hose,  his  Hannah,  and  his  h)ve, 

To  go  and  sing  Hose — iinnah,  in  the  rualms  ahove." 

I  saw  many  beautiful 
thoughts  chiselled  on  the 
cold  and  crumbling  marble 

"sermons  on  stones" 
they  were  indeed  : 

"  Gone  home, 
Gone  to  sleep, 
May  we  lut- et  in  Heaven  ! 
My  liushand. 
We  fade  away  suddenly  like  the 
[grass. 
If  ye  love  me,   ye  would  rejoice 
[because  I  go  unto  my  Father." 

How  sweet  is  this  : 

"Little  Nettie  slumbers  sweetly, 
In  her  lovely  narrow  bed. 

Pelting  storm  and  howling  tempest 
Cannot  reach  her  little  head." 

On  one  stone  was  written  this  injunction  : 

"  Go  home,  my  friend,  and  wipe  oti'  your  tears, 
Here  I  must  lie  till  Christ  appears." 

Here  is  one  which,  with  a  change  of  the  word  to  children, 
father,  mother,  Charley,  Sara,  &c.,  appears  a  good  many  times 
in  the  graveyard  : 

'  Children, 
Dearest  Robert,  thou  hast  left  us, 
Susan, 
Johnnie, 
Here  thy  loss  we  deeply  feel, 
But  'tis  God  that  hath  bereft  us, 
He  shall  all  our  sorrows  heal." 

Here  is  another  very  common  one  which  can  be  utilized  in  the 
same  way  : 

"  Carrie, 
Peace  to  thy'ne  ashes.  May,  green  be  the  sod  above  thee, 

John, 

Mell, 
Flowers  shall  wave  above  thy  grave. 
To  prove  that  we  still  love  thee." 

A  fearful  shower  now  threatened  from  the  south,  and  bidding 
adieu  to  my  rough,  but  kind-hearted  old  Sexton,  I  returned  to 
the  festivities  of  Congress  Hall. 

Eli  Perkins. 


\  _ 


95 


1^ 


:^^. 


Till-:  KFFECT  Ol'  THK  SNAKE  STORY:— A  JOKE. 

Congress  Hall,  Aug.  7. 

The  snake  story  has  had  a 
wonderful  effect  upon  the  local 
and  national  Press.  To-day  Cap- 
tain Ritchie  comes  out  as  follows 
in  the  Saratogiaii : 

POOR  "  LA— N" ! 

"  It  will  be  remoinbered  that  a 
day  or  two  since  the  N.  Y.  Com- 
mercial Advertiser  published  a 
very  singular  letter  from  its  Sara- 
toga correspondent,  "  Lan ," 

in  which  a  shocking  story  was 
related  about  snakes  and  rubbish 
of  all  kinds  being  thrown  to  tha 
surface  of  Congress  Spring  by  the 
action  of  electricity.  It  struck  us 
at  the  time  that  this  letter  was 
queer,  bBt  we  were  disposed  to 
make  light  of  it  and  treat  it  as  a  mere  joke — a  sort  of  epistolary 
extravaganza.     But  it  is  a  more  serious  matter  than  we  supposed 

— not  for  the  spring,  but  for  poor  "  Lan ."     The  letter  was 

simply  the  ebullition  of  a  disordered  imagination,  crowded  with 
vague  and  distorted  images.     The  fact  is— shall  we  write  the 
word  .^ — we  must — the  truth  shall  be  told — 
''Delirium  Tremens  ! 

"  The  story  is  out  now.  Everybody  at  the  hotels  knows  all 
about  it,  and  we  may  as  well  present  the  circumstances  just  as 
they  arc. 

"  It  appears  that  Lan ,  John  G.  Saxe,  John'  T.   Hoffman, 

Judge  Bernard  and  Col.  Johnson,  together  with  our  reporter 
(Captain  R. .'),  went  out  to  Moon's  one  day  last  week,  where 
they  found  Mayor  Carroll,  of  Troy,  and  all  together  sat  down  to 
one  of  the  most  effulgent  symposia,  we  presume,  that  ever  trans- 
pired within  the  walls  of  that  classic  retreat. 

"  Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  "  Lan ,"  whose  fine 

organization  was  perhaps  more  susceptible  than  those  of  the 
stout  bacchanals -who  were  with  him,  succumbed. 

"  His  fancy  became  heated,  and  that  night  his  friends,  on  their 
return  to  the  Congress,  noticed  a  peculiar  wild  light  in  his  eyes, 


CAFT.     RITCHIE. 


/|^ 


96 


\i/ : NJ/ 

-•  • ] ^  r 

and  several  times  he  was  seen  lo  cast  lurtivc  and  tearlul  j^l.mces 
in  the  direction  of  the  Congress  sprin^^-.  and  to  give  a  quici<,  con 
vulsive  start  at  intervals. 

"  His  reason  was  af  that  momo/t  tottering  ! 

"  He  soon  retired  to  his  room,  and  his  foot-fall  was  heard  til! 
after  three  o'clock.  A.M.  It  was  then  he  wrote  that  notable  letter 
about  the  "  Strange  Developments  at  Congress  Spring."  in  the 
morning  his  friends  noticed  him — saw  something  was  wrong. 

"  An  immediate  consultation  was   had,  and  the  result  was  that 

Lan was  asked  to  take  a  ride,  was  put  into  a  close  carriage, 

and  with  four  friends  accompanying,  was  hurried  to  Ballston  and 
placed  in  a  secure  room  in  the  upper  part  of  the  Sans-Souci 
Hotel,  where  he  is  at  this  moment,  under  the  care  of  an  excel- 
lent physician.  Sheriff  Noxon  pays  him  every  attention,  and  he 
is  under  the  impression  that  he  is  in  an  hospital,  having  suffered  a 
mysterious  injury  of  some  sort,  which  requires  his  utter  isolation. 

"  One  of  the  saddest  as  well  as  most  singular  features  of  his 
c^ase,  is^  his  ivncontrollable  desire  to  write  letters  to  the  New 
York  Commercial  Advertiser,  in  which  he  labors  still  under  the 
most  curious  hallucinations  The  horrid  phantasmagorical  fancy 
about  the  Congress  spring,  and  the  snakes  and  things  that  came 
out  of  it.  still  clings  in  his  mini',  and  he  thinks,  insane  man.  that 
he  has  been  exiled." 

VALE  ! 

This  editorial,  with  my  letters  dated  from  Ballston,  completely 

deceived  the  residents  of  Saratoga  and  vicinit}-.     When   I  came 

down  to  breakfast  this   morning  every  one  looked   at   me  with 

astonishment.     They  thought  I  was  in  Ballston.      Before  me  was 

the  Ballston  Journal.      In  it  was  my  obituary  thus  :— 

"  It  seems  that  the  Saratoga  correspondent  of  the  New  York 
Commercial  Advertiser  is  in  trouble.  Saturday  morning, 
the  Saratogian  gave  a  lengthy  description  of  his  doings  and 
failings,  and  it  appears  that  the  most  exciting  articles  he  has 
contributed  this  season — those  about  snakes  in  Congress  spring, 
etc.. — were  written  under  the  influence  of  delirimn  tremens. 
When  this  fact  became  known  to  his  friends,  they  brought  him 
to  this  village  and  placed  him  under  the  care  of  Sheriff  Noxon. 
who  has  done  everything  in  his  power  for  the  unfortunate  victim 
of  Saratoga  drinks.  We  think  the  term  "  watering-place  "  mis- 
applied, for  precious  little  water  do  the  gentlemen  at  the  Springs 
indulge  in.  This  will  undoubtedly  be  a  good  lesson  for  '  poor 
Lan .'  " 

^i^  97  G  /i^ 


^•^ 
o 


Sarkasum  is  a  dangerous  thing, 
has  gotten  me  in  a  terrible  muss 
is  always  a  dangerous  thing  to 
write  ironically  for  the  common  newspaper 
reader.  Only  the  highly  educatea  can  appreciate  a  satire,  or 
understand  that  while  a  writer  is  saying  one  thing  he  means  to 
convey  another  and  exactly  an  opposite  idea.  Irony  and  satire,  I 
am  satisfied  (and  Mr.  Saxe  said  the  same  thing  to  me  to-day), 
should  be  left  for  the  Galaxy  and  Atlantic,  magazines  whose 
readers  are  cultivated  enough  to  understand  them.  "  Ginx's 
Baby;"  the  "  Battle  of  Dorking,"  and  "  Dame  Europa's  School," 
are  too  much  for  the  ordinary  run  of  readers — too  much  for  the 
superficially  educated,  who  sometimes  frequent  watering-places, 
and  who  have  descended  from  fathers  and  mothers  who  were 
matter-of-fact  green-grocers,  instead  of  from  institutions  of 
learning.  ^    _ 

This  incapacity 
of  the  masses  to 
understand  satire 
was  appreciated 
by  my  old  friend 
Artemus  Ward, 
(whose  biography 
I  have  written  to 
be  published  by 
Carleton).  Half 
of  the  people  did  is  it  a  jokb  ? 


'r 


98 


^1^ 


not  understand  him  —  he  was  too  subtil  for  them.  Even  John 
Bright  listened  all  one  evening  to  his  lecture  in  Egyptian  Hall, 
while  everybody  was  splitting  with  laughter,  ivitJiout  a  smile. 
London  PiincJi  found  him  out  first  ;  then  the  educated  clubs  got 
hold  of  him,  and  a  furor  went  over  England  only  equalled  in  the 
days  of  "  Yellowplush."  Dr.  Holmes  has  experienced  just  this 
same  difficulty.  His  "  Autocrat  at  the  Breakfast  Table  "  was  a 
mystery  to  the  many.  Juvenal  and  Swift  only  wrote  their  satires 
for  the  most  cultivated. 

To  illustrate. — The  other  day,  when  I  wrote  about  "  Snakes  in 
Congress  Spring,"  there  were  any  quantity  of  "  poky,"  hum-drum 
people  who  believed  it.  The  next  day  I  expatriated  myself  over 
to  Ballston.      TJiey  believed  every  word  of  it. 

To-day  when  Capt.  Ritchie,  whom  I  knew  as  a  gallant  .soldier 
in  the  war,  comes  out  with  his  funny  editorial — zvhat  do  yon 
think  ? 

Why,  he  had  a  snake  story  on  me!  and  lots  of  fashionable 
people  read  his  irony  as  a  fact.  One  old  lady  said,  as  I  got  into 
the  carriage  with  Mr.  Coe  and  Mr.  Tuft,  to  ride  over  to  the 
Geyser  :  "  Well,  I  should  think  he  would  go  away  after  such  an 
assault  as  that  in  the  newspaper."  Poor  ignorant  soul,  she  little 
thought  that  the  article  was  written  for  another  atmosphere 
from  hers. 


—  •  — 
\ 


^1^  99  /i^ 


\l/  \1/ 


/ 


V-. 


THAT  HORRIBLE  BUCK! 

vai» 


"^^Z^^^^^. 


ViV 


\ 


CoN(jRESs  Hall,  Aug.  8. 

I)On''i  ! 

The  native  Saratogians  here  are  a  funny  people.  Their 
principal  care  and  occupation  is  to  keep  people  from  doing  any- 
tlii)ig.  Stroll  into  Congres.s  Spring  Park,  and  "  DON'T  go  on  the 
grass  !  "  appears  at  every  turn.  Being  of  a  sentimental  turn, 
you  pick  a  hanging  twig  for  your  sweetheart,  when  "  DON'T  pick 
the  shrubs  !  "  stares  you  in  the  face,  and  you  find  you  have,  after 
all,  broken  the  great  Saratoga  commandment — "  don't!'  The 
pet  buck  now  comes  fondly  toward  you.  You  hold  out  tempting- 
ly a  piece  of  cracker  for  gentle  gazelle  to  nibble.  He  nibbles — 
nabs  it — and  then  goes  straight  for  the  stomach  of  a  harmless 
clergyman.  The  good  man  leaves  a  wife  and  twelve  small 
children  ! 

"  Doiit  you  see  the  notice  ">.  "  shouts  an  angry  policeman. 

"  No — where  .■'  " 

"  Here — '  Doii  t  feed  or  a/inoy  the  buck'  as  it  makes  him  vicious  !  ' 
Don't  you  see  it  ? " 

Great  Heavens !  another  commandment  done  for !  That 
buck  is  one  of  the  dreadful  things  of  Saratoga.  For  three  days 
the  park  has  been  closed— (this  is  a  fact)— to  all  visitors.  The 
lovers'  seat  has  been  vacant,  and  all  transient  Saratoga  has  been 
penned  up  on  hotel  balconies  or  compelled  to  resort  to  the  more 
cheerful  location — the  village  graveyard. 

. ,/. 

lOO  ^1^ 


liut  to  the  buck  again — that  miserable,  dreadful  doj^-in-the- 
manger  buck  !  Yesterday  a  policeman  stood  all  day  with  a  wire 
stretched  across  the  park  entrance.  He  "  gave  a  new  command- 
ment unto  us."  The  man  in  blue  pointed  ominously  to  the 
twenty-sixth  doii  I  !  "  Doiit  go  near  the  buck.  He  is  s/ieddi/ig 
the  velvet  from  his  horns  and  is  positively  dangei'ous  .'" 

As  I  write,  the  villagers  are  securing  the  buck.  They  have 
built  a  pen  in  the  middle  of  the  park — a  big  pen,  a  sort  of  board 
Castle  of  Chillon  for  him.  Is  he  secure  ?  Will  he  break  out  ? 
I  dread  for  the  fate  of  this  happy  town  if  that  buck  ever  gets 
loose.  How  he  would  come  sailing  up  Broadway  with  liis 
antlers  proudly  erect,  cleaning  vehicles  from  the  street,  and  the 
masses  from  the  hotel  balconies  !  I  cannot  think  of  to-morrow 
without  a  shudder. 

"  QnoHsqne  tandem  abutere  patientid  nostra,  O  Ihiek  /" 

The  young  ladies — the  dears  of  Congress  Hall — object  seriously 
to  the  exclusiveness  of  the  stag  party — in  the  park  ! 


—  •  — 

\ 


V  fi 


^1" 


lOI 


/fN 


^-  •  — 

/ 


—  •  — 


REV.  ELI  PERKINS. 

Congress  Hall,  August  9. 

Tlic  ladies  at  Congress  Hall  requested  me 
to  deliver  one  of  my  real  old  sound,  hard- 
shell  Baptist  sermons,  this  afternoon.      Hun- 
dreds gathered  around  to  listen  to  my  words 
of  wisdom  as  they  fell  from    the    orchestra 
of  the  bath-room  which  I  used  as  my  pulpit. 
Some    fashionable    young    ladies   who   were 
dressing  for  the  morning  German  leaned  out  of  their 
room-doors  just  to  catch  now  and  then  a  word. 
I  took  for  my  text  the  following  three  verses,  to  wit  : 

LISTBNIN".  TO  ELI. 

"  A  lady  refused  to  be  introduced  to  a  gentleman  last  evening  at  Congress  Hall, 
anil  no  amount  of  urging  could  induce  her  to  change  her  mind. 

''•  '  Wliat  arc  your  reasons  for  not  wanting  an  introduction  ?  '  urged  a  friend. 

'•  '  Because  he  wears  a  paper  collar  and  dyes  his  mustache,'  replied  the  lady  . 
'  and  I  ueVer  knew  a  thorough  gentleman  to  do  either.'  " 

1  commenced  my  sermon  thus  : 

"  My  beloved  sisters,  the  woman  spoken  of  in  my  text,  uttered 
a  solemn  truth.  A  dyed  mustache  is  a  foul  thing — as  foul  as  a 
cigar  in  the  mouth  of  a  Venus  ;  and  a  paper  collar  is  an  evasion 
of  the  laundry  as  culpable  as  the  lady  who  chose  colored 
crockery  because  it  would  not  show  dirt. 

"  About  dyeing  gray  hair  black,  my  beloved  sisters,  I  will  also 
say  a  word. 

"  Light  hair  makes  the  eyes  look  brilliant  by  contrast.  So,  by- 
and-by,  when  the  eye  becomes  dimmed  by  age,  God  paints  the 
hair  white,  and  the  dimness  of  the  eye  is  unperceived.  Look  at 
a  man  or  woman  with  dyed  hair  !  The  eye  is  as  dead  as  that  of 
a  sleeping  ox.  And  still  these  silly  people  think  they  are 
deceiving  somebody — think  that  they  are  making  themselves 
look  younger,  when  everybody  with  a  particle  of  sense  discounts 
their  foolish  attempt  at  deception. 


\ 


102 


^1^ 


\l/ 


\l/ 


"  Powdering  the  hair  gives  tlie  eyes  an  vmnatural  brilliancy, 
hence  it  is  frequently  resorted  to  in  Court  circles  in  Muropc. 
But,  as  a  general  thing,  young  gentlemen  and  old  !  dont  try  to 
improve  on  Divinity.  God  knows  best  what  to  do,  and  when  he 
silvers  your  hair  with  wliite,  or  paints  your  mustache  with 
auburn,  He  has  a  purpose  as  grand  as  Himself. 

"  SECONDLY,  Cleanliness  is  next  to  Godliness. — Here  is  something 
I  heard  Mr.  Seward  .say  once  (you  know  the  ex- 1  Vernier  is  the 
homeliest  man,  except  General  Sherman,  in  America) — well,  old 
homely-handsome  Secretary  Seward  said  :  '  The  cleanest  man 
is  the  most  comely  to  look  upon  ;  so  bathe  well,  eat  well,  and 
love  well,  and,  somehow  or  other,  the  homelie.st  will  be  beau- 
tiful.' Now,  it  has  struck  me  a  thousand  times  that  Mr.  Seward, 
who  looks  always  so  neat  and  sweet,  is  really  a  handsome  man  ! 
The  cleanest  man  is  the  best  man  —  I  mean  morally  and 
physically  too  ! 

TYPES. 

"  How  many  young  ladies — and  now  I  beg  their  pardons  for 
saying  it — look  beautiful  at  a  distance,  but  when  you  come  close 

to  them  they  have  a  soiled 
look.  The  hair  will  look 
greasy.  Now  there  is  no 
more  excuse  for  ])uttini; 
grease  on  your  hair  than 
there  is  for  putting  it  on 
your  hands.  Vou  people, 
I  say,  who  grease  your  hair 
are  just  as  barbarous  as 
the  Comanche  Indian  who 
greases  his  face  ! 

"  A  gentleman  will  ne\ci 
fall  in  love  with  a  soiled 
woman.  She  must  be  sweet. 
Have  you  never,  in  so-called 
polite  society,  met  a  young 


BE4CT1FUL    CLEAN    HAIR. 


^i~ 


103 


^1/ 


— • — 


l.uly  wliosc  face  would  be  iiiiprovca  by  a  yood  square  washintj  ? 
Now,  this  is  plain  homely  talk.  European  Court  circles  do  more 
bathing,  ten  to  one.  than  the  bourgeoisie.  Indeed,  in  Russia — in 
Moscow,  where  you  see  the  sweetest  blonde  women  in  the  world 
-they  have  four  bath-houses,  each  as  large  as  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel.  Once  daily,  every  man  and  woman  of  patrician  blood 
plunges  all  over,  head  and  all.  under  pure  sparkling,  rejuvenating 
water.  This  makes  the  hair  light  colored— gives  it  a  fleecy,  airy 
api)earance — and  gives  to  the  homeliest  something  of  the  angelic. 
"  ']"ilIRDL\'.    When  you  get  married,  take  a  proud,  weil-dressed 

"  J  say  a  proud,  well-dressed  man,  because  a  well-dressed  man 
generally  does  everything  well.  It  takes  a  man  of  wit  and  pride 
to  wear  a  well-fitting  suit  of  clothes.  Wellington  said  his  dandy 
officers  were  his  best  officers.  There  was  a  da.sh  of  dandyism 
al)out  all  the  great  heroes  of  Greece  and  Rome.  There  were 
s-u'ells  in  those  days  as  well  as  now.  Alcibiade,  the  "  curled 
son  of  Clinias,"  was  the  nobbyest  boy  in  Greece.  Aristotle,  the 
great  philosopher,  was  the  "  swellest"  fellow  on  the  5th  Avenue 
of  Athens.  Marcus  Antonius  was  a  dandy,  so  were  Sir  Hum- 
phrey Dav)'  and  Lord  Palmerston. 

"  Brummcl,  D'Orsay,  and  Byron — what  officers  they  would 
have  made  !  Too  proud  to  run,  their  swords  would  have 
frightened  a  dozen  plebeians,  whose  pride  is  in  money  and  dusty 
tenant-houses.  Sherman  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer  at  heart  ;  so  are 
Meade,  and  Handcock,  and  Sheridan.  They  would  never  run 
while  there  was  a  man  left  to  see  them  fight.  Such  men  are  too 
proud  to  run. 

"  Pride  makes  politeness,  makes  a  man  treat  his  wife  well,  dress 
her  in  rich  pongee  and  camel's  hair,  and  makes  him  hate  paper 
collars  and  deception  generally.  Pride  always  has  (in  New 
York)  a  backbone,  while  vanity  is  a  coward.  A  vain  gambler 
will  stand  in  front  of  the  Hoffman  House  all  day  to  show  his 
fine  clothes.  If  he  had  pride  he  would  sneak  away  and  hide 
himself  The  proud  man  who  wears  a  nice  coat  himself,  I  say, 
will  be  sure  to  give  his  wife  point  lace  and  six-button  gloves  ; 
and,  says  Dr.  Holme.s,  if  any  one  insults  her  his  proud  blood 
will  be  up,  his  amber  kids  will  become  gauntlets,  and  his  white 
vest  will  take  on  all  the  splendors  ol  a  glittering  breast  plate. 

"  He  will  fight  for  you  and  love  you  too  !  " 

"  .hfien  /"  responded  Dr.  Tying,  Dr.  Corey  and  Dr.  Swope. 

^i'^^  ^4  >i^ 


FI.IRTINr,    Flifil). 

a  fine  compliment  ;  hence,  about 
fellow  makes  no\v-a-days  to  a 
}-oung  lady  is  some  sucli  homily 
as  this  : — 

"Oh,  I  hear,  Miss  Brown,  that 
you  are  an  awful  fiirt !" 

He    simply  means    that  Miss 
Brown  has  attractive  wa}'s. 

The  second  meaning  to  the 
word  flirt  is  freighted  with  some- 
thing more  serious.  It  means  that 
a  young  gentleman  or  )'oung  lady 
will,  knowingly,  trifle  with  the  niost 
sacred  feelings  and  passions  of 
the  human  h.eart,  that  b)"  prac- 
ticing a  sort  of  disgraceful  con- 
fidence game  they  will  win  the 
honest  love  of  another,  and   then 

los 


"FoUKTMLV,—/  added  this 
/ynragrap//  by  special  request  of 
tlie  yoiiitg  ladies. 

l-'lirting  is  a  word  which 
seems  to  have  two  meanings. 
One  meaning  is  that  a  young 
gentleman  oryoung  lad>- makes 
himself  or  herself  agreeable  to 
the  opposite  sex,  that  they  try 
so  to  do,  and  that  the\-  suc- 
ceed. When  we  call  a  \-oung 
lady  a  flirt,  in  that  sense  it  is 
the  flrst  remark  a  sicell  yoww^ 


^1^ 


commit  a  double  crime  of  betraying  it.  Such  flirting  is  a  crimi- 
nal act,  and  should  be  punished  like  any  other  confidence  game, 
or  swindling  in  ordinary  business  transactions.  No  real  gentle- 
man or  lady  would  knowingly  com- 
mit such  a  crime.  Many  young 
ladies  and  gentlemen  have  the  repu- 
tation of  flirting,  when  in  fact  they 
are  only  trying  to  please  ever)'body. 
This  is  a  virtue.  "  Do  to  others  as 
ye  would  that  they  should  do  to 
,'  you."  is  the  golden  rule  of  politeness 
j  as  well  as  morality. 

Lord  Chester- 
field ,  with  all  his 
wit,  never  laid  down 
;  so  good    a 

rule  for  po- 
liteness as 
this. 

So  when 

any      one 

calls  you  a 

flirt,  before 

you    smile 

or  make    answer,  ask   them  which 

kind  of  flirt  they  mean — the  polite 

FRED  IS  Fi.rRTixr;  vow.  '^t'  the  wicked  . 


—  •  — 
\ 


WHEN  FRED'S  A  FLIET. 

0  Kate  1  am  I  late  for  the  ride  ? 

I'sliHW  !  that  horrid — that  dreadful  Fred  Day, 
Up  Ihc  street  he  walked  by  my  side, 
Till  I  thought  that  he'd  never  go  'way. 

1  knew  that  our  ride  was  at  four, 

Just  the  time  when  the  beaux  arc  all  out ; 
But  he  chattered — the  horrible  bore  I — 
Dear  knows  what  he  did  talk  about. 


:o6 


/!^ 


/ 


—  •  — 


'  Why  didn't  I  tell  liim  to  go?" 

Well,  somehow  or  other  I  eouldn't ; 
He's  one  of  the  swell  beaux,  you  know, 
It  I'd  (said  go,  I  kuow  now  he  wouldn't 

Yes,  "  handsome  !"  and  sweet  as  a  doll, 
And  he  dances  and  flirts  so  divine 

That  you  feel  as  if  clasped  by  ^pol — 
0  dear  Kate,  don't  I  wish  he  were  mine  ! 

Yes,  first  I  meet  Fred  up  at  Rye  ; 

>Twas  a  dance,  a  bouquet  and  a  walk  . 
The  wretch  took  my  hand  witli  a  sigli, 

But  mamma  came  and  broke  up  the  talk. 

0  Kate,  what  a  sweet  laundalet  I 

(There  is  Fred  walking  over  the  street : 

you  dear  scamp— you  love  of  a  pet !) 
Seats  easy — lined  with  drab,  and  so  neat. 

James  in  drab,  too — dressed  d  propos  : 
What  a  love  of  a  hat  you  do  wear ! 

Strings  negative  drab,  and  just  too 
Lovely  as  we  wear  our  back  hair. 

Take  a  peep  at  my  braids,  do  you  see 
How  classic  ?  on  the  top  of  my  head, 

Just  like  the  Venus  of  Milo — 

Who  can  that  be  walkine  with  Fred  ? 


■  Nellie  M- 


,  of  West  Thirty-third?" 
-the  flirt !  how  he  can  ! 


0  the  wretch 
For  last  uight  he  gave  me  his  word 
Not  to  speak  to  the  guy — 0  the  man  I 

Why,  at  Richfield,  last  summer,  they  walked, 
She  on  his  aim ;  ate  lunch  on  the  grass  ; 

And  Fred  took  her  hand  as  they  talked — 
Yes,  I  saw  through  my  opera  glass. 

He's  never  said  love  to  me,  Kate, 

How  I'd  frown  him  down  quick  at  the  word 
He's  a  flirt  when  he  walks  with  N ,  Kate — 

With  Nellie  M ,  of  West  Thirty-tliird ! 


Q^^ 


I07 


si/ 

—  »  •— 

\ 


MEYERS  AND  THE  CEDAR  BLUFF 

Congress  Hall,  August  loth. 
riii>  morning  at  seven,  in  company  with  Joseph  Mills,  Banker 
Davis  of  Memphis,  and  Colonel  Bridgeland,  I  made  the  circuit  of 

Saratoga  lake.  Passing  Moon's, 
the  sulphur  spring  at  the  head 
of  the  Lake,  and  Snake  Island, 
we  reached  the  objective  point, 
Meyer's  Cedar  Bluff  Hotel, 
where  the  President  dined  last 
summer,  and  wh,ere  many  dis- 
tingues  dinner  parties  are  cel- 
ebrated. 

The  big,  honest,  sun-burned 
face  of  Mr.  Meyers  welcomed 
us  on  the  porch.  His  busy  wife 
was  in  a  great  "  stew  "  about  a 
projected  dinner  for  a  party, 
consisting  of  Commodore  Van- 
derbilt  and  wife,  Mr.  and  Mrs 
Boody,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harker, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marvin. 

The    "  tavern  "    occupies    the 

sloping  east  side  of    Saratoga 

--"^'='~  Lake,  overlooking  it,   like    the 

«8^ERs  Gregory  House  at  Lake  Maho- 

pac.     The  view  is  as  enchanting  as  at  Geneva      To  the  left  is 

Snake   Island,  covered  with  God's  tapestry,  the  waving  trees, 


xi\ 


1 08 


/»N 


— •  — — — — — ^—  — ^— i— ^-^— ^— ^^^-^^— — — ^-^— ^— — — ^-^— — — ^^-^_  - 

while  at  our  feet  the  white-crested  waves  broke  unceasing  against 
the  rocks.  The  trees — the  towering  hemlocks,  the  shell-bark 
hickories,  and  the  weeping  ashes — stand  in  all  their  native 
grandeur.  One  old  hemlock,  with  its  great  dead  top,  stood  like 
a  silent  sentinel  over  the  lake,  the  west  wind  moaning  a  sad, 
sad  requiem  through  its  leafless  boughs. 

"Why  don't  you  trim  off  the  dead  limbs.'"  asked  a  spruce 
bystander. 

"  Trim  off  the  dead  limbs  !  "  exclaimed  old  Meyers.  "  Why. 
you  might  as  well  ask  me  to  drown  old  Ponto.  Seventeen  years 
ago  that  dog  and  I  hunted  together  when  those  dry  limbs  were 
green  and  growing  twigs.  There  ain't  a  knot  there  that  I  hav'nt 
shot  a  squirrel  from,"  said  Meyers  proudly  as  he  stooped  down 
to  pet  old  Ponto,  a  veteran  Scotch  pointer.  "  He's  deaf  arid 
dumb,"  corttinued'  Meyers,  as  he  pulled  up  the  dog's  ears.  "  but 
just  let  old  Ponto  get  a  scent  of  anything,  from  a  quail  to  a  coon, 
even  now,  and  hell  cover  it  if  it  takes  a  week." 

George  Crum,  one  of  Meyers'  half-Indian,  half-negro  hunters, 
now  came  up  the  bank  with  a  basket  of  birds. 

"  How  do  these  look  .' "  asked  the  old  fellow,  counting  out  a 
handful  of  cock,  until  he  came  down  to  a  large  bird,  which  hr 
instantly  covered  up. 

"  Splendid  !  "  said  Colonel   B ;  "  but  wliat  is  that  big  bird 

you  just  covered  up  .-'  " 

"  O,  that's  like  all  the  rest,"  said  Meyers,  somewhat  puzzled. 
But  the  Colonel  thrust  his  hand  to  the  bottom  of  the  basket,  and 
held  the  new  bird  up  by  the  leg. 

"  Say,  what  is  it  .'  "  he  asked. 

"  SHt- !  that's— T-ii-A-T-'s  a  kilmaroo." 

"  A  what — maroo  .'  "  asked  the  Colonel. 

"  A  KiL — MA — ROO,"  said  Meyers,  in  a  whisper. 

"What's  that.''"  asked  the  Colonel,  who  thought  ho  knew 
every  bird  in  the  catalogue. 

"  Well,"  said  Meyers — and  he  leaned  forward  to  whisper  it-  - 
"  that  will  be  a  partridge  after  the  first  of  September  !  "     \ou 

'jV  -  109  ^t^ 


sec,  tlu>sc  Albany  fellows  trouble  us  a  little  with  their  game 
laws,  and  I  give  my  boys  orders  to  kill  nothing  but  woodcock 
and  kilniaroo  till  the  first  of  September." 

"  Are  your  own  boys  here  with  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes.  Do  you  sec  those  two  cottages  ?  "  said  Meyers  pointing 
to  the  right.  "  There's  where  my  boys  live  with  their  wives. 
You  see  they  help  me  tend  bar,  and,  with  my  wife,  we  tend  to 
everything  ourselves.  Then  if  there  is  any  steaHng  we  know  it 
is  all  in  the  family." 

"  How  long  do  you  expect  to  stay  here  .?" 

"  Well,  fifty  years  more  at  least,"  said  Meyers.  But  if  he  does 
he'll  be  one  hundred  and  ten  years  eld,  for  the  good  old  man 
must  be  sixty  now. 

The  breakfast  was  a  wonderful  triumph  of  cookery — black  bass, 
brook  trout,  and  woodcock.  The  Saratoga  Lake  black  bass  are 
the  best  fish  in  the  civilized  world — they  even  surpass  in  flavor 
brook-trout  from  the  New  Hampshire  mountains,  or  the  Red 
snapper  from  New  Orleans. 

Mr.  Meyers,  who  was  formerly  Deputy  Sheriff  here,  as  well  as 
his  wife,  was  bom  around  the  lake.  He  has  recently  stocked 
the  following  ponds  and  lakes  with  black  bass  from  Saratoga 
Lake  :  Joseph  Godwin's  pond,  Yonkers  ;  Lake  Mahopac,  for 
Samuel  T.  Tisdell ;  Sand  Lake,  Poughkeepsie  ;  and  the  ponds 
at  Flushing.  Black  bass  are  to  be  found  in  Lake  George  and 
Niagara  River  in  a  wild  state,  but  nowhere  are  they  so  delightful 
as  in  Saratoga  Lake. 


.—  •  — 
\ 


'  I  lO 


/(^ 


_)!/ ^ % 

GRAND  HOP  AT  THE  CLARENDON. 


Congress  Hall,  Aug.  1 1 . 

All  Saratoga  was  thrown  into  a.  furore  of  excitement  yesterday, 
by  the  announcement  of  a  "  Grand  ball,"  to  be  given  by  the 
inmates  of  the  aristocratic  boarding-house  on  the  hill. 

The  tickets  read  : 

Benefit  Ball  foi 

Y.  M.  A. 

At  the  Clarendon  Hotel, 

Everybody   was   in    a   quandary  about  the  meaning    of  the 

ominous    "  Y.  M.   A."     Mr.    Gilsey  said  it  was  an   ambiguous 

expression.     The  High  Church  Quaker  ladies  read  it,   "  Young 

Men's   Association "    and  Reqniescat  in  pace,  while   the   giddy 

damsels  read  it  "  for  the  Young  Maiden's  Amusement." 

THE   BALL 
was  a  great  success — only  it  should  not  have  been  called  a  ball- 
It  was  a  religious  meeting.     The  frivolous  villagers  turned  out 
and  danced  before  the  Clarendon  boarders,  who  sat  around  the 
sides  of  the  room  in  proper  attitudes. 

And  why  not .-' 

Did  not  Davijd  dance  before  Saul  .-* 

The  Clarendonites  listened  to  the  music  and  observed  the  so- 
lemn entertainment  with  religious  awe.  They  did  not  dance. 
Clarendonites  never  dance — that  is,  at  the  Clarendon.  They  are 
exclusive.  They  dance  only  at  Congress  Hall — though,  entre 
nous,  several  giddy  maiden  ladies,  occupying  rooms  in  proximity 
to  Parlati's  music,  were  seen  last  evening  dancing  the  "  Dip  "  in 
their  private  rooms  in  presence  of  their  aged  grandmothers.  My 
remarks  on  the  round  dances  have  revolutionized  matters  at  the 
Clarendon.  One  of  our  "  swell  "  New  York  fellows,  with  hat 
deferentially  in  hand,  thus  saluted  an  ancient  swell  maiden  lady 
at  the  ball  last  night : 


\h 


— —  •  — 

\ 


SWEl-LS. 

Good    evening, 
charming  evening 


Miss    VV- 


Yoi/?2^i^  Lady. — Yes,  awful 
charming — dance  to-night  ? 

Young  Gentleman. — O,  yes — 
that  is,  the  round  dances.  Ain't 
they  jolly  nice  ? 

Young  Lady.—O.  Mr.  G— , 
we  kon't  you  kneuw, — they'r 
beastly — perfectly  bea.stly — 
haw-a-ble  ! 

Young  Gentleman. —  But,  the 
divine    Boston  !    It's     dreadful 
sweet — but  those  fearful  square 
dances,    they   are  horrid- — they 
AIN'T  THEY  jotLY  SICE.  arc  awful  poky.     Everything  is 

poky  but  the  deux  /^;«/j, galop, and  dip. 

Young  Lady. — Poky  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  such  a  lovely  pun — every- 
thing poky  but  the  galop— awful  good — perfectly  atrocious  ! 

Young  Gentleman. — Don't  see  any  pun — but  never  mind,  I'm 
not  clever,  you  kneuw.      I  never  see  a  pun. 

Young  Lady. — But,  Mr.  G— ,  they  .say  you  are  an  awful  flirt — 
perfectly  howid. 

Young  Gentleman. — O  !  no,  I  never  flirt — kon't,  yeu  kneuw — 
Do  you  like  flirts  .'' 

Young  Lady. — O  !  I  think  they're  jolly  nice.  Who  wouldn't 
flirt.  It's  too  lovely  !  But  it's  awful — perfectly  dreadful  to  get 
spooney — ain't  it .'' 

Young  Gentleman. — Never  got  so.  Love  is  poky — dref'ul 
stupid.  Couldn't  spoon  on  a  girl  with  less  than  a  $30,000  reve- 
nue and  a  rich  Governor  no  way — could'nt  think  of  it,  yeu  kneuw  ! 
Young  Lady. — No,  I  shouldn't  think  any  one  could.  Pa's  got 
four  brown  stone  fronts,  and  I've  got  four  camel's  hair  shawls, 
and  a  set  of  diamonds — and — 


^1^ 


112 


/|^ 


7' 


Young  Gentleman — (with  eye  on  brown-stone  ironi>*.  Ami 
such  lovely  hands  to  put  them  on— and  such  an  arm  '  (),  let's  l;(» 
out  on  the  balcony  and  have  a  nice — 

But  I  lost  the  sentence  as  they  waddled  out.  she  with  her  (k- 
formed  shoulders  and  dangling"  hands,  and  he  with  empty  head 
and  metropolitan  morals.  Wendell  Phillips  says  "  marriage 
makes  a  man  and  his  wife  one,"  but  if  tiiis  trash  e\er  mate,  the 
world  will  have  to  understand  decimals  to  comjiute  them 

But  to  the  Clarendon  ball  ! 


—  •  — 


The  ancient  maiden  ladies  act  with  propriety,  I  say,  when  at 
the  Clarendon  !  but  their  mothers  ought  to  see  them  when  they 
get  loose,  and  come  down  to  Congress  Hall. 

Bernstein  seems  to  inspire  them,  for  they  dance,  laugli,  pro- 
m.enade  on  the  bridge,  and  occupy  secluded  nooks  on  rear  bal- 
conies with  scampy  Congress  Hall  fellows.  Rumor  has  it  that 
young  ladies  from  the  Clarendon  have  lost  their  hearts,  and 
become  engaged  while  dancing  at  Congress  Hall. 


^i~ 


If. 3 


/|N 


—  •  -^ 


?^ 


— • — 


KISSES. 
Mr.  Saxe  wrote  these  verses  off  for  Mrs.  S.  \V.  C.  to-day.     He 
said  they  were  the  best  he  ever  wrote.  All  the  ladies  are  readin^^ 
them  and  they  all  pronounce  them   "  too  sweet  for  anything  !  " 
What  do  you  think  .-* 


r. 


Give  me  kisses  ! — do  not  stay 
Counting  in  that  careful  way  ; 
All  the  coins  your  lips  can  print 
Never  will  exhaust  the  mint  ; 

Kiss  me,  then, 
Every  moment — and  again  ! 

II. 

(live  me  kisses  ! — do  not  stop- 
Measuring  nectar  by  the  drop  ; 
Though  to  millions  they  amount, 
Tin  y  will  never  drain  the  fount; 

Kiss  me,  then, 
K\  erv  moment — <ind  again  ! 


/|\ 


114 


^|\ 


\ 


Givr  me  kisses  ! — jill  is  waste 
Save  the  luxury  we  taste  ; 
And  for  kissing — kisses  live 
Only  when  we  t;ike  or  give  . 

Kiss  nie,  then. 
Every  moment — and  again  ! 

IV 

Give  me  kisses! — though  their  wortli 
Far  exceed  the  gems  of  earth. 
Never  pearls  so  rich  and  pure 
Gost  so  little,  I  am  sure : 

Kiss  me,  then. 
Every  moment — and  auain  ! 


Give  me  kisses  ! — nay.  'tis  true 
I  am  just  as  rich  as  you  : 
And  for  every  kiss  I  owe, 
I  can  pay  you  back,  you  know 

Kiss  me,  then. 
Kvery  moment — and  again  1 


I  I^ 


/|N 


<^y 


\ 


GRAND  SOCIAL  CONGRESS. 


Congress  Hall,  Aug.  12. 

Yesterday  was  the  quiet  Sabbath,  and  your  correspondent 
kept  it  religiously.  He  went  up  to  Father  Ryan's  church  on  the 
hill  by  the  Clarendon. 

The  balconies  of  the  Union  and  Congress  Hall  were  crowded 
with  the  usual  thoughtless  throng.  Our  Fifth  avenue  Jewish 
friends — those  pretty  girls  who  fl>rt  with  Christians  but  marry 
Jews,  and  who  go  to  the  beautiful  Synagogue  on  Avenue  V — 
w^ere  singing,  and  talking,  and  promenading  in  a  most  jubilant 
manner.  With  them  it  was  not  Sunday,  but  Monday.  The 
Christians  caught  the  spirit  of  abandon  from  them,  and  also  sang 

"  Sic  transit  gloria  mundi  " 
with  the  rest.     The  thousands  of  people  stood  in  endless  post- 
office  rows  at  Congress  Spring.     The  same  week  day  jokes  were 
cracked  on  the  water,  and  doubt  and  confirmations  made  as  to 
the  validity  of  the  snake  story. 

"How  does  the  water  affect  you.'"  asked  a  quiet  old  un- 
suspecting Quaker  lady,  of  her  lady  friend,  who  stood  in  a  group 
of  Clarendonites. 

"  Sh !  Sh !  "  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  "  they  will  hear 

you  !  " 

"  Well,  verily,  it  does  affect  everybody  the  same  then,  1  am 
sure,"  moralized  the  old  Quaker  lady,  as  she  drank  off  the  fifth 
glass  and  walked  on  to  church. 

Tiie  thoughtless  caravan  of  belles  and  beaux  left  the  Spring 
to  promenade  around  the  park,  where — 

TIk^   (niiDU'uing  pinei*  and  the    ht-mlock,  in  garments  green,  indistinct  in  the 

twilight, 
Mand  like  Druids  of  Eld,  with  voices  sad  and  prophetic, 
Stand  like  harpers  hoar  with  beards  that  rest  on  their  bosoms. 

_> /. 

-"i^  116  ^W 


\ 


"  I'm  a  Pilgrim  "  a  beautiful  song  of  [)rai.se,  sounded  out  of  the 
windows  from  Dr.  Strong's,  making  a  symphony  with  a  counter 
religious  current  from  Dr.  Hamilton's.  Dr.  Hamilton  gave  me 
the  very  leaf  he  was  singing  from. 


^ford-i  rro«  BWlTIFirL  ; 


I'm  a  Little  Pilgrim. 


112 


it,     Sill    U    a;  -  wnvs  ncai-. 
■olx-a  And  Mitli  Clin'st  he  m  en 


1.  I'm  a     lit  -  ilf    pil-grim    And    :i  stranger    here;    Tlio' tbij  wortd  L".  plflasant,     Sin    i.s    a;  -  wnvs  near. 

2.  Bat  a    lit  -  tlu    pil-gnni   Mnst  have  garments  cli^an,  If  |'|X',?'|ii^     the  wliitp  robes  And  Mitli  Clin'st  he  M-rn. 


1=*  :±t;:tirxjt:dbt=^=tr 


~  7^  T*T 

Th'-Te>a    bet- ter  coun-try,  Wicre  there  is  no    fiin,    Wliere  the  tones  of  sor  -  row    Nev  -  cr   cn-ter       vi 
Jesus,  cleanse  aiiiTsaveWi^Ieach  me  [0  o  -bey;        Ho  -  iy  .Spir  -  it,  guide  me      On    my  heavenly  ray. 


^^ 


pf=:f.:^^E^ 


^ 


AT    THE    CLARENDON. 

Many  good  people  sat  on  the  Clarendon  steps  in  pious  at- 
titudes, with  prayer-books  in  their  hands,  or  in  anxious  groups 
listening  to  the  reports  of  hotel  committees. 

I  stopped  a  moment  before  a  group  of  pious  Philadelphia 
ladies,  to  listen  to  the  proceedings.  They  were  proceedings  of 
terrible  interest. 

"  We  will  now  listen  to  the  report  of  the  Committee  on 
Incomes,"  said  Mrs.  VV . 

"What  does  all  this  mean.''"  I  inquired  of  my  old  friend. 
Richard  Suydam. 

■'  Mean,"  said  he — "  why,  don't  you  know  that  our  hotel  is  a 
grand  social  Congress — that  they  have  a  committee  appointed 
to  investigate  the  social,  commercial,  and  intellectual  qualifica- 
tions of  new  arrivals  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  plain,  unpretending  inmate  of  Congress  Hall,"  I 
replied  ;   "  how  should  1  know  these  things  ?  " 

Mr.  Suydam  then  presented  me  to  Mr.  B — op,  Mr.  \'-n  N — t, 
Mr.    P — n,  and   Mr.   M — all,  who  took  me  into  a  secluded  room 


117 


_  c 


_M/ ; -"1$ 

^  near  the  balcony,  where  1  listened  to  the  e.vercises.  1  listcr.ed 
with  avidity,  and  determined  to  write  down  what  J  heard  and 
saw  U)i-  tlio  benefit  of  thirt\-  thousand  C().\.MKK<"1ai.  readers  at 
Newport.  Loni;  Branch,  and  at  Coniiress  Hall, 

All  the  niana^Mni;  old  ladies  and  j'oung  ladies  of  the  Ciarend.m 
who  have  reached  the  a^^t  of  discretion  (29)  were  present. 
COMMIT  I'KK    ON     INCOMES. 
1-irst  came  the  report  from  the  Committee  on  Incomes. 

M,-s  W arose  and  said—"  Air.  K .  Mr.B .  Mr.  C, . 

M,  [1 ,ind  Mr.  F .seeminiiiy  very  proper  persons,  arrived 

\cstero.ay  from  New-Vork.  Their  incomes  have  been  ascertained 
to  be  r.-spectivel)-.  $5,000.  $7,000,  $2,500,  $1 5,000.  and  $1,500. 
1  II!. -V  tiui'  ihe  $5,000,  $7,000,  and  $15,000  gentlemen  be  ac- 
cepted. ,-t;nJ  ih.ii  the  others  be  cut  dead !'    Motion  carried 

(OMMIITEK    ON     1'K1)1(;K1:!> 

I'he  Lonmiittec  on    Pedigrees.    Loni    .M .  Chan-man,   now 

reported  that  the  $1,500  inan  was  a  Latin  tutor  at  Harvard,  son 
o'i  a  clergyman  .  that  the  $2,500  man  was  a  journalist,  formerly 
a  college  professor  and  son  of  the  President  of  a  College  ;  that 
the  $7,000  man  was  a  broker,  with  only  desk  room  in  Cedar 
street,  born  in  Ireland,  ucar  Lord  Mnnsoiis  estate;  that  the 
$5,000  man  sold  theatre  tickets  in  front  of  Niblo's  ;  and  that  the 
$15,000  man  kept  a  livery-stable  near  the  Bull's  Head,  but  that 
his  father  was  with  General  Jackson  as  a  Government  contractor  in 
the  war  of  i8r2.  The  $7,000  man  was  accepted  because  he  was 
born  near  Lord  Munson's.  and  the  $15,000  man  because  his 
father  fought  \\  ith  General  Jackson. 

I  OALMITTEK    0.\     Fl  IR  IWT ION. 

A  report  was  now  offered  as  to  the  tiirtations  each  candidate 
had  carried  on  on  former  occasions — at  Newport,  Long  Branch,  or 
Cape  Ma\  In  cases  where  the  candidate  had  flirted,  and  it 
had  been  proven,  he  was  instantly  rejected,  on  the  ground  that 
the  Clarendon  young  ladies  are  well  along  in   years — that  they 


^1/ 


wish  only  men  to  join  their  set  who  mean  business,  ana  ihai  .ill 
chronic  flirters  should  be  instantly  sent  to  Congress  Hall  and  the 
Grand  Union,  where  there  are  plenty  of  idle  young  ladies  who  un- 
willing and  pleased  to  waste  their  time  on  young  men  who  alwa>> 
talk,  but  never  propose. 

COMMITTEE   ON    DRESS. 

The  Committee  on  Dress,  Mr.  J.  Henry  K .  Chairman,  now 

reported  as  to  the  toilets  of  the  newcomers.  He  proninmced  the 
$7,000  man  correct.  He  wore  a  Gersh  Lockwood  coat  made 
after  Pool's  pattern.  He  had  seventeen  canes,  four  umbrellas, 
and  nine  eye-glasses.  The  journalist  wore  his  hair  too  long, 
dressed  in  the  morning  in  black  trousers,  and  had  a  wild  look 
about  the  eye.  He  was  rejected.  The  $15,000  man  wore  paper 
collars,  a  dress  coat  in  the  morning,  a  velvet  coat  at  the  full  dress 

Newport  hops,  and  black  kids  at  the  races.     Mr.  K .  asked 

that  he  be  sent  to  the  American  Hotel  to  associate  with  the  Ca- 
tholic priests.  Not  carried  Mr.  K only  appears  at  the  Cla- 
rendon at  short  intervals.  He  is  exclusive  and  spends  n'lost  of 
his  time  at  Congress  Hall. 

OTHER     COMMITTEES. 
The    meeting    now    listened  to  reports  from  other  committee.^ 
on    different   things   about  the   Clarendon    and    other   .Saratoga 

hotels.  r\  ,..      1     1  •         ...    -1 

One  committee  had  investigated 

the  case  of  a  cross  husband  at  the 
Clarendon,  whose  wife  has  a  fond- 
ness for  grave-yard  walks  with  a 
handsome  young  man.  The  meet- 
ing resolved  that  any  woman  who 
has  a  scolding  husband,  has  a  right 
to  walk,  talk,  and  flirt  witli  any- 
body. 

The  committee  on  Congress  Hall  reported  as  to  the  e.xact 
number  of  rich  young  fellows,  their  precise  incomes,  <ind  the  pro- 
bable chance  of  crettin"  them    to   dance   at   the   Clarendon  Cjer- 


COMMITTEE    ON'    CROSS    HISBANI>8. 


~!" 


1 19 


/^ 


—  •  — 

/ 


mans.     A  report  w  as  also  read  as  to  Congress  Hall  engagements 
pending,  and  explaining  the  reason  why  Clarendon   gentlemen 
spend  all  their  time  at  Congress  Hall.     One  old  lady  said  it  was 
because  the  ladies  there  were  younger  and  prettier. 
She  was  e.\pelled. 

Now  came  reports  of  committees  on  defunct  husbands,  old 
lovers,  on  devoted  lovers  and  on  cross  husbands,  on  general  scan- 
dal, on  washing  white  dresses,  on  getting  beaux  away  from 
Congress  Hall,  on  watching  the  balcony  nights,  on  grave-yard 
flirtations,  on  cost  of  ladies'  dresses,  on  married  men  who  com^ 
in  late,  on  religious  tenets,  on  dyed-hair,  on  letters  received  at  the 
post-ofhce,  &c.,  &c. 

IlIK    INTRIGUING    COMMITTEE. 

The  Intriguing  Committee  is  one  of  the 
most  important  committees  at  the  Claren- 
don. The  duties  of  the  Chairman  are  to 
assist  in  getting  off  old  husbands  and  in 
assisting  their  wives  in  new  flirtations  with 
unsuspecting  young  men,  also  to  entertain 
clever  old  bachelors  who  have  dog-carts  and 
big  incomes,  and  keep  them  from  taking  up 
the  valuable  time  of  young  ladies  over 
OLD  HusBAXD.  t wcuty- clght ,   who   have  or  ought   to  have 

genuine  lovers. 

\\  ealthy  old  bachelors  who  always  talk  but  never  propose  are 
only  wanted  at  five  P.  M.  with  coachmen  and  dog-carts.  They 
are  also  permitted  to  bu>'  bon-boits  and  bouquets,  but  must  with- 
draw after  they  are  presented. 

THESE   TERRIBLE   DEVELOPMENTS 
kept   me  from   church — and,  filled   with   statistics   and    facts,    I 
flew  back  to  my  room  to  write  them  out.     Since  writing  them  I 

have  read  them  -over  to  Messrs.  B op,  Van  N 1,  T rn. 

and  M shall,  and  they  pronounce  them  correctly  rendered, 

and  offer  to  subscribe  liberally  to   have  them    oublished  in  book 
f(jrm. 


1 20 


^1^ 


—  •  — 

/ 


—  •  — 


A  CHRISTIAN  ACT. — 

Congress  Hall.  Aug.  13. 

The  great  subject  of  discussion  for  the  last  week,  has  been 
the  projected  purchase  of  Morrissey's  club-house  by  a  number 
of  Christian  gentlemen,  who  desire  to  convert  it  into  a  Free 
Library  and  Reading  Room  for  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association.  The  chief  movers  in  this  philanthropy  have  been 
Dr.  Ting,  Mr.  B.  F.  Beekman,  Mr.  John  R.  Cecil.  Mr.  Abicl 
Heywood,  Mr.  Charles  Wall,  and  Mr.  Peter  Gilse\-.  (They  were 
in  correspondence  with  Mr.  Hugh  J.  Hastings,  I  have  since 
learned). 

Mr.  Beekman  and  Major  Selover  had  an  interview  with  l\lr. 
Morri-ssey  on  Saturday,  relative  to  the  sale  of  his  club-house. 

Mr.  M admitted  that  his  grounds  and   buildings  had  co.'^t 

him  about  $190,000,  but  he  said  he  would  not  sell  them  for  less 
than  $500,000.  This  demand  rather  dampened  the  ardor  of 
Mr.  Beekman,  who  reported  the  result  of  his  interview  to  Colonel 
Boody,  Henry  Polhemus,  and  N.  H.  Decker.  The  latter  said 
he  was  in  favor  of  purchasing  the  club-house  at  any  price,  and 
that  he  would  sign  as  much  as  Mr.  Bissel.  Mr.  Bissell  said  he- 
would  sign  as  much  as  Mr.  Hastings,  and  Mr.  Hastings  said  he 
would  sign  as  much  as  Mr.  Beekman.  Mr.  Groves  said  he  would 
sign  more  than  any  other  gentleman.  Mr.  Weeks,  Mr.  John 
Cecil,  and  many  other  gentlemen  also  said  they  would  sign  as 


121 


—  •  — 

\ 


much  as  Mr.  Heekman.     So  much  depended  upon  Mr.  Beekman 
tliat  he  immediately  signed  his  name  for  $5,500. 

Tlie  following  paper  was  signed  very  generally  yesterday.  It 
explains  itself. 

SUBSCKIPTKJ.VS. 

S.\R.\TOGA,  August  12. — In  pursuance  to  a  resolution  adopted 
at  a  meeting  held  at  Congress  Hall,  August  5th,  for  the  purpose 
of  raising  a  fund  for  the  purchase  of  the  building  known  as 
"  Morrissey's  Club  House,"  and  to  convert  such  building  into  a 
•'  Free  Library  and  Literary  Club,"  B.  F.  Beekman  in  the  chair. 
the  following  subscription  list  is  circulated. 

Henry  D.  Polhemus,  Secretary 

We,  the  undersigned  subscribers,  do  hereby  agree  to  pay  the 
sums  set  opposite  our  names  for  the  purpose  of  purchasing  said 
club-hou.se,  and  to  turn  it  into  a  Free  Library  and  Literary  Club, 
to  be  used  by  the  guests  and  residents  of  Saratoga,  without  dis- 
tinction as  to  religious  or  political  belief,  believing  that  we  thereby 
contribute  to  raise  the  moral  tone  of  the  community  at  large,  and 
place  in  Saratoga  a  Christian  monument  whose  influence  will 
extend  throughout  the  country. 


Georoe  M.  Croves §11,000 

A.  BooDv ; ,  8,000 

B.  F.  Beekman 5,500 

E.  A.   Hammond 9,000 

J    A    Bridqbland 5,500 

Henry  D.  Folhemcs 4,500 

Wm    Hunter 5,000 

Ma.IOR  SKL"VtB \  5  000 

Wm.  li.  Chapman.      .  4,500 

Col   Krsa  Hawkins.    .  J.uOO 

Petkr  Gilsey ...  6,000 

Ja8   H.  Brf.slin  1,500 

J   Codd:ngton.  ...  4.00(1 

Thomas  Kkrh -1,500 

S  G   CorRTNEY 5,000 

H,  B.  (JuAFLiN 2,5iiO 

N  H.  Deckei! 6,000 

C   C.  Hariings 4.000 

Jas    Datir 4  500 

'-'.  H    Hick .  .").0i)0 

C    H.  Barnahi> 4,500 

W    .T.   SCHKNCK '^,5C0 


Edwin  Brooks  .                      .  5.500 

('HAKLE&  Wall        ,..,      ..,.  5,500 

Fisher  Iohnson ......,..,  4  500 

Gaoh GE  H.  BissELL  .  ,  , 6,000 

Sheriff  (J'Brien , .  5.000 

JcHN  R.  Cecil  .      , 6  000 

George  Cecil ,  .,..,, »  4,500 

George  Quintard,  . ,      - . ,    .  .  5,000 

C.  V   Caldwell  5.500 

C.  H.  Kite 4,000 

H   W.  King    .  .      ,    . , 5,000 

n    S.  Clements     ..,..,,,.,,  5,000 

F    S  Dams    ...    .......    .  6  000 

G.  D   PiTzipio 4  500 

.\   T.  Stewaht          ....  3,500 

1).  L    Pettr 5,000 

Geo    W    Landon    .    .......  5,500 

Thoh   s.  Dakih 5,0(10 

KiCHARD    SuVDAM 2.IIO0 

Total, .•»  176,000 


^1^ 


122 


—  •  — 


^h 


12 


/|^ 


nI/ >!^ 

-•- \ 

Yesterday  thc\'  let  the  water  from  the  new  water-works  into 
the  water  mains  It  was  a  great  day  for  Saratoga  Water- 
spouts were  in  every  direction.  An  angiy  Geyser  seemed  to 
spout  from  ever\-  corner 

To  the  casual  observer,  there  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  water 
revolution  in  the  under-s/rata  of  this  quiet  village  No  earth- 
quake or  extraordinary  convulsion  of  nature  had  been  noticed, 
but  all  over  town — in  the  highways,  on  street  corners,  and  every- 
where, the  ground  would  become  moist,  quake  a  little,  and  then 
would  burst  forth  a  full-fledged  "spouting  spring."  The  bowels 
of  the  earth  became  suddenly  loosened,  and  many  superstitious 
persons,  who  believe  Saratoga  to  be  only  separated  by  a  thin 
crust  from  the  infernal  regions,  began  to  pack  up  for  the  White 
Mountains. 

AWFUL    I'ROFAxMITV. 

"  What's  the  matter  down  below .''"   I   asked   of  Mr.  Marvin. 
Not  that  Mr.  Marvin  has  anything  in  particular  to  do  with  these 
down-be  I oiu  affairs,  but  because  he  is  a  sort  of  High  Sheriff  or- 
Burgomaster  of  Saratoga. 

Mr.  Marvin  assured  me  the  infernal  regions  were  all  right ; 
that  Congress  Spring  had  not  sprung  a  subterranean  leak  ;  but 
that  the  town  authorities  had  just  let  the  water  into  the  mains 
from  the  new  reservoir. 

"  We're  testing  their  strength,"  said  Mr.  M . 

■■  Where  do  you  get  the  water  for  the  reservoir  '" 

"  Win',  wc  daui  Greenfield  Crock,  and  this  is  the  very  water 
which  they  dammed " 

"Sh — !"  exclaimed  Dr.  Swopc  of  Trinity  Chapel,  "please 
don't  be  .so  profane,  my  friend!  for,"  continued  the  Dr.,  "while  I 

am  glad  Saratoga  has  a  creek  worth  a  dam     Imean '    Here 

M.  Heekman  came  along  with    his   sub.scription   paper,  and   the 
crowd  dispersed. 
/_ 

124  /W 


\i/ 


\t/ 


COL.  FisK  OK  Till-:  91  n. 


iMsk  ami  tlic  \intli  Kc^i- 
mcnt      Hand    canic    in     full 
feather  to-day,  takin^r  posses- 
sion of  the  Grand  Union  and 
Wm.  Leland.      VX'fUiam  Le- 
land  has  been  Sus\'  showin''- 
the     Colonel     the     <;ruunds 
about    the   hotel   this  after- 
noon. He  has  left  Fisk  in  a 
state   of  utter  astonishment 
After  showing  the  elevator, 
ball  room,  and  Stewart's 
cottage,     he     took     tlie 
Colonel   up  to   the 
cupola     of    the 
Giand  Union 


to  survey  the  surrounding  scene. 

"What  is  that  ?"  asked  Fisk,  pointing  to  the  Clarendon. 

"  Why,  that's  the  cook-house  of  the  Grand  Union,"  replied 
William.     "  All  tho.se  buildings  belong  to  me,  you  know." 

"  And  that  park  ?"  pointing  toward  Congress  Spring. 

"  Well,  that's  mine,  too — that's  where  we  keep  our  venison,  and 
shoot  our  woodcock  for  the  hotel." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  so  !  "  said  Fisk,  eyeing  him  in  astonishment. 
— "  you  surprise  me !  And  whose  piece  of  property  is  that  sur- 
rounded by  the  high  board   fence  over  beyond  the  park  .'  "  asked 


\2'- 


^1^ 


nI/  •         ^'^ 


/ 


the  Colonel  in  a  state  ut  ^rowuii^  bewilderment,  pointing  toward 
the  race  track. 

"  Well,  that's  my  private  farm  and  race  track,  it  all  goes  with 
the  hotel,  you  know." 

"  You  amaze  me.'  said  Fisk,  "  but  you  don't  say  that  you  own 
that  large  brick  building  opposite  too  ?  "  pointing  down  toward 
Congress  Hall. 

"  Well,  to  be  frank  with  you,  Colonel,  I  don't  own  that  building 
— that  belongs  to  brother  Warren — his  private  residence — by 
gum  I  War  lives  well,  don't  he  ?  Ha  !  ha  ! !  " 

Trembling  with  astonishment,  Fisk  came  down  the  elevator. 
As  he  alighted  he  leaned  forward  toward  William  Leland,  and 
whispered.  "  By  thunder,  Bill,  why  don't  you  buy  my  opera- 
house  for  your  New  York  office  ^  " 

Fisk  personated  Achilles  with  the  I  RUN  HEEL  at  the  mas- 
querade this  evening. 


\ 


^1^  :;;,  •        >i 


si/ 

— •  •  — 

/ 


FASHIONABLE  SOCIETY  AT  THE  CIRCUS. 
(A    Sartre.) 

Congress  Hall,  Aug.  15. 

Yesterday  all  of  the 
"  best  society^  in  Sara- 
toga went  to  Barnum's 
Circus.  I  was  invited 
to  go  with  a  very  aristo- 
cratic party  from  the 
Clarendon.  It  was  quite 
a  relief  to  get  away  from 
the  crowded  hotel  bal- 
conies. They  said,"  Mr. 
Perkins  is  a  very  re- 
spectable and  confiden- 
tial old  fellow,  who 
always  looks  after  the 
camel's-hair  shawls  and 
opera-glas.ses  while  we 
frolic  with  the  round- 
dance  fellows,  and  we 
must  have  him." 
I  was  glad  to  go. 
We  had  been  amu- 
sing ourselves  on  the 
Clarendon  steps  betting 
with  the  ladies.  Just 
opposite  is  a  Catholic 
GOOD  UNCLE  ELI.  church.      Thc}'  have   a 

good  many  funerals  there.  It  is  the  only  relief  the  Clarendonites 
have  from  their  monotony.  On  account  of  the  snakes  in  the 
Springs,  a  good  many  Saratoga  people  die — others  drink  them- 
selves to  death  ;  but   Charles  Leland  manages  to   have    all   the 


\  _ 


127 


processions  go  by  the  Clarendon.  Some  days  it  is  quite  lively 
to  sit  there  and  hear  the  witty  repartees,  the  funny  anecdotes,  and 
uateli  the  processions. 

AKFFXTING    INCIDENT. 

Wiien  the  bell  tolls  there  is  a  general  rush  to  the  balcony,  and 
when  the  age  begins  to  be  struck  the  betting  commences. 

The  sexton  strikes  i — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5  —  6 — 7 — 8 — 9 — 10:  then 
comes  a  long  pause 

"  I'll  bet  the  age  is  over  thirty,"  says  Mr.  Hunter 

"  I'll  t-t-take  it  T'  shout  Mr.  Traverse  and  a  dozen  others. 

Kver)body  gets  e.xcited,  and,  for  the  time  being,  the  balcony 
becomes  like  the  Fifth  Avenue  bar-room,  after  a  Wall  street  smash 
up 

Ihe  bell  tolls  out  the  .second  1—2—3 — 4—5—^^ — 7—8 — 9— 
10  ; — 1 1  — 12 — 13 — 14 — 15  — 16—17 — 18 — 19 — 20  r— then  five 
more. 

"  T-T-tw-twenty-f-five,"  shouts  Mr.  Traverse,  who  pays  his 
money  and  goes  on  to  tell  his  "  parrot  story  "  for  the  nine  hun- 
dred and  fifty-sixth  time. 

The  hotel  again  relaxes  into  its  accustomed  mourn  fulness — 
the  old  bachelors  fall  asleep  over  the  slow  dolies,  cross  husbands 
rush  upstairs  to  scold  their  wives,  and  the  old  maids  convene 
to  hear  committee  reports  on  incomes  and  pedigrees  and  read 
Mr  Perkins'  faithful  account  of  the  previous  day's  festivities. 


\ 


^^-^^-M-^ 


V"  —s  /(N- 


Yes,  we  all  went  to 
the  Circus, — the  swell 
fellows,  the  aristocra- 
tic young-  ladies  from 
the  Clarendon,  and 
the  jolly  old  Catholic 
prices  from  the  American.  hocp-i,a! 

The  sixteen  Catholic  priests  were  the  light  of  the  entertain- 
ment. Between  scenes,  they  spent  their  time  talking  about  the 
infallibility  of  tlie  Pope,  and  looking  at  our  group  of  aristocratic 
young  ladies  from  the  Clarendon. 

Two  of  them  attempted  a  flirtation,  but  Wni.  Traverse  got  in 
between  them  and  the  ladies,  and  became  a  wall  of  protect  on. 


\ 


129 


/ 
/in" 


—  •  — 

/ 


The  Protestant  clergymen  generally  behaved  well.  They 
txTCupied  front  scats,  with  benches  full  of  Sabbath -school 
children,  and  good-looking  young  ladies.  Their  behavior,  as  I 
remarked  before,  was  generally  good,  and  reflected  credit  on 
the  theological  institutions  from  which  they  were  graduated. 

When  D.  Castello  entered  the  arena  the  eye  of  every  clergy- 
man was  upon  him.  They  were  looking  for  religious  jokes  to 
enliven  their  sermons. 

"  I  have  been  in  every  profession  of  life,"  said  D.  Castello.  "  I 
have  been  a  carpenter,  a  mason,  a  shipbuilder  and  a  whaler." 

"  You  a  seafaring  man  } "  exclaimed  the  man  with  the  eagle 
eye  in  the  centre  ;  "where  were  you  ever  a  whaler  }  " 

"Why,  I  used  to  crui.sc  around  nights  and  come  home  and 
whale  the  children  in  tiie  morning,"  remarked  D.  C. 

Seventeen  Catholic  priests  leaned  forward  on  their  seats  and 
laughed.  They  were  soon  joined  by  eleven  of  the  Protestant 
clergymen,  and  there  was  one  united  laugh,  as  if  there  was  no 
relif'"ious  barrier  between  them.  Some  laughed  tenor,  some  in 
bass,  but  it  sounded  well,  and  I  thought  I  should  like  to  introduce 
them  all  to  our  Clarendon  young  ladies,  and  give  them  one  nice 
square  religious  hour  of  enjoyment.  Dr.  Corey  said  he  would  be 
responsible  for  the  Protestants.     But  1  did  not  introduce  them. 

"  SOCIETY   PEOPLE." 

One  of  the  most  interesting  features  of  the  gathering  was 
viewed  from  a  society  stand-point. 

Some  of  the  most  dilettante  beaux  and  belles  of  Saratoga 
County  were  present.  The  toilets  were  generally  remarked  by 
the  Clarendon  ladies  to  be  superb. 

As,  writing  from  the  great  American  watering-place,  I  am 
expected  to  give  fashionable  news,  toilets  and  dresses,  I  write  the 
following  from  notes  taken  on  the  spot. 


V  ,30  'i^ 


.v^cu^jw/^^ 


\ 


I  write  of  this  grand 
"  society  "    event    for 
the    benefit    of  "   so- 
ciety "  people  in  New 
York— people       who 
read  "  society"  news- 
papers and    dote    on 
having   their    charity 
ball -dresses  done  up 
by  the  fashion  writers. 
'■'  Personality  is  my  aim, 
for   it    is    just  "    the 
cheese  "now-a-days  to 
call    a    young    lady's 
name  and  hold  her  up 
to  the  gaze  of  the  pub- 
80CIBTY  MiRBoR.  Hc  as   my   "  society" 

clown  holds  up  the  hoop  mirror  full  of  fashionables  who  went  to 
the  circus. 

PERSONAL. 

There  were  present,  I  learn  from  the  Pedigree  Committee,  some 
of  the  most  aristocratic  families  of  Saratoga  and  Albany  Coun- 
ties. There  were  the  Perkinses,  distant  relatives  to  our  Perkinses, 
whose  ancestors  distinguished  themselves  on  the  old  battle-field 
of  Saratoga — they  carried  water  to  the  British  ;  there  were  the 
Kershaws,  an  old  family  related  to  the  Burgoynes.  Sir  John 
Kershaw  refused  a  ducal  coronet  in  1436.  When  I^rederick  the 
Great  urged  it  upon  him  he  said,  "  No,  no,  your  honor  ;  I  am  not 
guilty.     Give  it  to  General  McClellan." 

There  were  the  Fitches,  who  for  seventeen  generations  have 
pursued  patriotic  husbandry  near  Saratoga  Lake — they  raised 
cucumbers  and  spring  chickens  on  the  battle  ground  of  Saratoga 
for  William  Leland.     John  Fitch,  the  oldest  son,  went  to  the 


\ 


131 


/,l^ 


xU 


metropolis  where  he  afterward  distinguished  himself  at  the  bar 
(Gilsey  House).  It  was  there  that  he  made  his  great  speech, 
which  drew  the  attention  of  General  Dent  and  Mr.  Grant  of 
Washington.  Mr.  Grant  expressed  unqualified  approbation  of 
the  speech.  He  said,  "  Nothing  has  pleased  me  better  for  years 
unless  it  was  a  span  of  horses  from  Collector  Murphy."  Mr.  Fitch, 
immediately  sent  the  President  a  tandem  team. 

That  speech  of  Mr.  Fitch  at  the  bar 
was  a  short  one  and  did  not  create  much 
furore  at  first,  but  it  has  been  repeated 
many  times  since.  It  went  into  history. 
Said  Mr.  Fitch,  turning  his  eagle  eye 
upon  the  New  York  bar—"  I'll  take  sugar 
in  mine  !  "  * 


fj^s 


AN  EPISODK  OF  WAR. 
The  descendants  of  the  Greens  were  also  present.  The  elder 
Green,  now  a  white-haired  old  man,  was  a  leading  Loyalist 
during  the  Revolution.  He  was  always  to  be  found  where  the 
bills  were  th^  thickest — under  the  ammunition 
wagon.  He  was  called  upon  to  hold  General 
Burgoyne's  horse,  when  General  Sherman 
ordered  him  to  surrender.  Burgoyne  and 
Sherman  both  dismounted  near  where  the 
Saratoga  Monument  now  is,  and  walked  over  to  Moon's,  where 
they  drank  milk  punches  and  ate  fried  potatoes.  Moon  was  then 
a  mere  lad.  He  now  totters  under  the  weight  of  one  hundred 
and  ten  years.-  He  says  that  the-  season  is  so  short  at  the-Lake 
that  iri  reality  he  has  lived  only  forty-six  years.  Sherman  and 
Burgoyne  were  afterward  joined  by  General  Butler  and  General 
Beauregard. 


•  The  writer  thought  of  leaving  this  speech  of  Judge  Fitch  out,  fearing  that 
poople  would  think  it  reforred  to  the  geoial  Judge  John  Fitch  of  New  York.  The 
.•iuthor  refers  to  another  Fitch,  liut  even  if  this  speech  is  attributed  to  Judge  John 
Fitch,  he  is  so  well  known  and  loved  by  everybody  as  a  representative  man  and 
;;ood  citizen,  tiiat  he  is  just  the  man  to  stand  a  joke. — Thr  Author. 


/\^ 


^32 


'1^ 


SI/ 


\l/ 


They  adjourned  over  to  Myers'  Cedar  lilulT  llolcl  and  drank 
more  punches,  when,  in  an  untjuarded  nionicnt,  Hurtj^o\-ne  sur- 
rendered his  entire  army.  Moon,  Mrs.  M)crs,  Mar\in,  and 
WilHam  Lehind  all  signed  the  articles  of  capitulation,  and  tiie 
afifair  ended  up  with  a  grand  ball  at  the  Clarendon.  Man>-  of 
the  Clarendon  maiden  l.idies  were  )-oung  then,  and  it  was  no 
uncommon  thing  to  see  them  engage  in  dancing  and  other 
innocent  amusements. 

The  r.ritish  troops  were  paroled  the  same  day,  and  before  the 
season  was  over  most  of  the  officers  had  married  rich  wives  from 
among  the  guests  of  Congress  Mall.  Burgo)-ne  himself  became 
Collector  of  the  Port  of  New  York,  and  succeeded,  on  a  salary 
of  $3,000  per  year,  in  amassing  an  immense  fortune  at  the  ex- 
piration of  eight  months.  I  get  this  from  the  Clarendon  Income 
Committee.  Burgoyne's  grand-daughters,  beautiful  blondes,  oc- 
cupied front  seats  at  the  circus  to-da}-. 

MORE   PpRSON.'M.. 

There  was  another  old  family  present  at  the  circus  to-day — 

the  Leicesters,  from  Ballston  Spa.     They  descended  from  either 

Lord  Leicester,  Earl   of  Dudley,  or  fromC.  Edwards  Leicester 

of  New  York,  who  afterward  became  the  "  glory  and  shame  of 

England."  They  made  a  good 
thing  supplying  the  English  army 
with  eggs  and  milk  during  their 
march  through  Saratoga  County. 
They  live  on  a  princely  estate,  and 
furnish  squash  and  spinach  daily 
to  Congress  Hall. 

TOILET.S. 

The  toilets  at  the  circus  were 

simply  elegant.  The  Clarcndonites 

appeared  in  full  dress,  low  necks, 

cL\REXDONiTEs  AT  THE  CIKCU8.       aud  short  slecvcs.    Tlic  crentlemen 


^1^ 


^33 


/jv 


>1 % 

st.^od  in  dress-coats  and  white  kids,  and  fanned  the  ladies  during 
the  interesting  exercises.  The  chief  dressing  was  done  by  the 
descendants  cf  the  old  aristocratic  famihes  of  Saratoga  County. 
CL'KSTS  I'RESKNT— VERY  PERSONAL. 
Miss  Mable  Tucker,  a  clmrming  brunette,  wore  a  beautiful 
variegated  robe  de  coton,  trimmed  with  gas-light  green  alpaca, 
dimi-train  cut  Pompadour.  Mer  chapcau  de paille  was  surmounted 
b\-  a  wa\'ing  ostrich  plume,  her  shoes  fine  cuir  d€  bcBuf,  Strings 
same  material. 

"  She  was  much  admired." 

Miss  Nancy  Perkins  was  accompanied  by  her  fiance,  Mr. 
Orriii  Kershaw.  Mr.  K.  wore  un  vieil  habit,  with  boutons  de 
aiivrc.  1  lis  head  was  surmounted  by  a  chapeau  de  brigand,  and 
on  his  neck  he  wore  un  col  de  papier.  His  face  was  decorated 
with  line  moustache  coloree.  He  had  an  aristocratic  air,  and  sneezed 
like  one  of  the  old  families  at  the  Clarendon. 
"  She  was  much  admired." 

Miss  Abigail  Kittle,  a  lovely  blonde,  and  dnughter  of  the 
aristocratic  blacksmith,  whose  grandfather  shoed  General  Bur- 
go\-iic's  horses,  wore  two  strips  of  cotton  velvet  around  her  neck, 
and  black  linen  shoe  strings.  Her  hair,  clicveirx  roux\  was  dressed 
a  la  Pompadour,  and  her  jewelry  was  of  the  richest  bijoux  de 
cuivrc.  She  wore  pi  tits  short-fingered  flynets  on  her  hands.  Her 
shoulders  humped  gracefully  over,  and  her  arms  dangled  like 
some  of  the  fashionable  young  ladies  at  Congress  Hall. 
"  She  was  much  admired." 

Mrs.  Kphrams  Shaw  uc'e  Smuggles,  wife  of  the  eminent  car- 
penter of  Glen  Mitchell,  wore  green  figured  alpaca,  with  yellow 
bombazine  overskirt,  trimmed  with  Westchester  County  lace, 
and  looped  up  with  wreathes  of  myrtle,  black  stokings  cut  decol- 
letc's,  and  farmer's  satin  shoes,  cut  Pompadour,  and  court  train. 
Sh9e  strings  of  cuir  de  boeuf.  Her  dress  resembled  the  new 
Cretonne  suits  worn  at  Congress  Hall. 
She  was  much  admired. 


\l/ 


J/ 


Mrs.  Scrubson  iicc  Perkins,  and  the  daughter  of  the  aristocratic 
Perkinses,  who  own  a  baronial  estate  and  supply  cucumbers  to 
William  and  Warren  Leland,  \\ore  yellow  nainsook,  trimmed 
with  Scotch  plaid  poplin  and  real  Saratoga  County  lace.  Her 
dress  front  was  ornamented  with  a  white  apron,  cut  Pompadour, 
and  with  court  train.  She  carried  a  beautiful  colored  baby  in 
her  arms.  "  She  was  much  admired."  Her  smile  was  one  of  sad 
melancholy,  like  the  old  maids  at  the  Clarendon  while  the 
Congress  hop  is  going  on. 

Miss  Abigail  Snicknor  "  was  much  admired." 

Miss  Sarah  Calkings  "  was  a  great  favorite." 

Miss  Nancy  Scrum. //rt'  Calkings,  is  a  beautiful  sneezer.  She 
does  it  in  a  sweet,  natural  manner.  Her  friends  gather  in  crowds 
to  hear  her  sneeze.  She  wore  red  morocco  shoes  with  blue 
strings,  cut  Pompadour  dc'colletee,  and  court  train. 

John  Perkins, y?rt;;r/ of  Miss  Snicknor, 
wore  a  paper  collar  (//;/  col  de  papier) 
and  waxed  his  mustache,  like  William 
Leland.  He  was  very  much  inter- 
ested in  the  monkeys  and  kangaroos. 
He  excused  himself  from  the  ladies 
•  to  look  at  fhem.  He  said  he 
liked  to  see  the  little  kusses 
jump  up  and  squeal.  The 
l^erkinses  are  a  great  family 
in  Saratoga  County.  John 
Perkins  is  one  of  a  family  of 
eleven — but  not  the  only  one. 
He  follows  the  glorious  pur- 
.suit  of  agriculture — he  raises  string  beans  for  the  Clarendon. 
At  the  old  Perkins  manor  house  "  he  is  monarch  of  all  he  sur- 
veys." He  says  he  is,  but  alas  !  his  eyes  are  "  cut  on  a  bias"  and 
he  don't  survey  much. 

There  is  a  legend  here  that  the   Perkinses  came  here  eleven 


ETES    CUT    ON    A    BIAS. 


j:) 


St/ 

-^  •  — 


years  before  Columbus  sailed  from  Palos.  William  Lelapd  tells 
it— that  they  discovered  Congress  Spring  and  the  old  United 
States  Motel,  and  then  returned  for  old  Chris.,  and  followed  him 
up  with  the  Mayjloxccr.  Benjamin  Butler  did  not  discover  Sara- 
toga, though  he  did  discover  Great  Bethel,  in  Virginia.  Facts 
and  statistics  are  my  forte,  and  I  know  what  I  write.  I  saw  the 
man  who  told  me.  Broadway,  Saratoga,  was  then  a  "  howling 
wilderness."  Perkins  heard  it  howl.  It  is  generally  quiet  here 
now.     Howling  has  pretty  much  ceased. 

"  He  was  much  admired." 

Miss  Perkins  is  one  of  the  most  charming  young  ladies  of 
Saratoga. 

Miss  Kershaw  is  a  beautiful  dancer  and  "is  much  admired." 

ELI    PERKINS   OF   CONNECTICUT. 

Of  course,  you  get  the  races  by  telegraph  ;  if  you  don't  you 
should.    Pm  too  busy  with  my  hotel  statistics  to  see  horse  races. 

There  was  a  terrible  scramble,  my  Statician  says,  to  get  to  the 
track  to-day.  Every  vehicle  was  engaged.  Many  ladies  walked 
out.  The  grand  stand  was  full,  the  boulevard  was  watered,  the 
horses  ran  like  the  devil,  and  married  gentlemen  generally  escort- 
ed their  wives.  Eight  hundred  and  thirty-six  pair  of  four-button 
gloves  changed  hands.  Old  John  Harper  wore  the  same  old 
grc)'  coat,  Belmont  his  silver  plume,  and  Traverse  a  white  suit 
with  red  necktie. 


^1^ 


^r 


136 


/|\ 


^1/ >1<1 


(\^^<   . 


EVERYBODY    SOLD. 

Congress  Hall,  Aug.  i6th. 

The  joke  of  purchasing  the"  Club  Mouse  only  came  out  to-day. 
When  the  Commercial  came  with  the  list  of  signers  and  their 
donations,  it  struck  the  camp  of  Congress  Hall  like  a  bomb-shell. 

"  What  is  the  matter  .'"  I  asked  Mr.  Decker  as  he  sat  reading 
the  list  while  drops  of  cold  perspiration  stood  on  his  forehead. 

"  Great  Heavens  !  my  dear  Sir,"  said  he,  "  1  would  give  as  muck 
as  Mr.  Beekman,  but  I  had  no  idea  that  he  was  going  to  give 
over  a  hundred  or  two,  and  here  he  has  gone  and  signed  $5,500 
and  I'm  down  for  the  same  amount !  " 

"  And  we  are  in  the  same  boat  too,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Stewart, 
Mr.  Claflin  and  Major  Selover.  "  Good  Gracious  !  $5,500  for  a 
free  reading-room  !  "  And  then  with  Mr.  Brooks,  Mr.  Cecil  and 
Mr.  Boody  they  went  off  to  look  for  Mr.  Beekman. 

"  Great    Heavens,  Beekman  !   what  do  you  mean  by  signing 

$5,500  for  this  d d  reading-room.^"  exclaimed  Mr.  Decker, 

while  the  rest  all  stood  by  to  hear  Mr.  B.'s  explanation. 

"  Why,  gentlemen,  I  mean  simply  that  I  am  in  earnest — that 
I  believe  seriously  that  this  is  a  good  cause — that  the  Club 
House,  as  Mr.  Decker  said,  '  ought  to  be  bought  at  any  price,' 
and  I  signed  my  $5,500  in  good  faith,  and,  gentlemen,  I  expect  to 
pay  it !  " 

"  And  me  too  .■'  " 

"  Of  course,  you  all  said  you  would  give  as  niuch  as  I  would," 
said  Mr.  B.  uTth  a  benevolent  smile. 
************ 


'•  Look,  here  Beekman,"  said  Mr.  Decker  confidentially  an 
hour  afterwards,  "  I  acknowledge  we  are  caught,  but  I  am  dif- 
ferent from  the  rest.  I've  got  a  large  family  to  support.  You  know 
1  can't  afiford  any  such  subscription.  Now  can't  you  let  me  off 
if  I'll  do  the  fair  thing  over  at  Meyer's  > " 

To-day  Mr.  Decker  gave  one  of  the  most  delightful  dinners 
of  the  season  ac  Meyer's.  Thirty  plates— wood-cock— black 
bass— buck  trout  and  barrels  of  champagne.  His  name  was 
taken  off  the  list,  but  every  other  signer  is  expected  to  pay 
whenever  called  upon.  Mr.  Polhemus  already  has  Mr.  Beak- 
man's  check  for  his  subscription. 


\ 


SMOKE    THE    JOKE. 

\ri:RIXG-PL.\CE   POETRY. 

One  of  the  most  gifted  of  poets  handed 
me  this  watering-place  parody  to-da\'. 

From  dawn  till  nightfall,  at  my  window  sitting, 
I  wait  while  drift  the  heavy  hours  aAvay  ; 

And  like  the  swallows,  all  my  thoughts  go  fitting, 
To  darling  Kate,  with  whom  they  fain  would  stay. 

(im  the  spring  there  comes  the  thoughttess  laughter 
Of  those  who  linger  by  the  fountain's  side  ; 

them  not— my  gaze  still  follows  after 
My  dear  lost  friend — God  grant  no  ill  betide. 


Out  from  the  dance  1  come  where  loves  are  mating, 
And  music  sweetly  swells  the  eventide, 

Listless  I  wander,  while  my  love  is  waiting — 
U  here'er  she  be  there  would  my  heart  abide. 

All  the  day  long  I  listen  to  her  coming, 

All  the  day  long  I  dream  of  one' dear  face  ; 

I  hear  her  whispers  in  the  trees'  low  humming, 
I  feel  her  kisses  in  the  wind's  embrace. 


^r 


138 


/In 


si/ 

—  •  — 

/ 


Loucly  1  dream  while  the  warm  sunshine  lingers, 
\\  hile  happy  voices  till  tho  mellow  iiir  ; 

Alone  sit  dreaming,  while  my  tremhling  lingers 

Pass  o'er  my  ey(!.s  half  closed  by  doubt  and  care. 

Ah !  heavy  heart,  so  lassionate  its  yearning, 
It  cannot  be  that  all  my  peace  is  o'er  ; 

That  all  the  love  that  in  my  heart  is  burning 
On  her  is  lost — that  she  can  love  no  more  I 

But  once  to  feel,  unchecked,  her  fond  caressing, 

One  wild,  sweet  hour,  close  to  her  heart  to  press  ! 

There  my  thought  stops — what  else  of  bliss  or.  blessing 
Thegreat  world  holds — I  do  not  care  to  guess. 

Still  at  my  window,  dreaming  while  their  laughter 
Sounds  o'er  the  spring  and  up  the  hill  above, 

I  lean,  and  wish  that  I  might  follow  after 

Till  I  could  clasp  my  arms  around  my  love  1 

FUN    AT   DINNER. 

It  is  too  amusin^^  to  watch  the  diffe- 
rent manners  bf  takin<^  dinner  at  our 
hotels.  Some  people  tuck  the  napkins 
in  their  neck  and  use  them  as  bibs  ; 
some  eat  the  chick'^-n  with  their  fingers, 
totally  ic,morin5^  knives  and  forks,  and 
some  occupy  the  interval  between  dishes 
by  picking  their  teeth.  It  is  very 
common  to  see  people  leave  the  table 
hurriedly  and  chew  their  dinner  from  the  table  to  the  door.  Se- 
nator Robertson,  of  South  Carolina,  has  been  so  exercised  about 
these  plebeiaa  actions  that  he  has  been  compelled  to  change  his 

table  three  times.     He  is  going  to  make  a  speech  in  the  Senate 
about  it  when  he  gets  to  Washington. 


eEXATOR    R.8    mKXD. 


^_^- 


3Ci~~ 


.^o 


1.39 


\ 

■^  •  — 
^1^ 


\ 


Talk  about  ci(«u>is  I  Talk  about  the  jam  at  a  Roman  carnival, 
the  crush  at  a  Lcipsic  fair,  the  seething  crowds  at  the  London 
Derb)-.  the  tumult  of  a  Nejni  Novgorod  fair  !  Why,  they  are  a 
quiet  Sunday  morning  to  this  grand  August  huddle  at  Saratoga. 
Old  ladies,  with  seventeen  band-boxes,  are  sent  into  the  sixth 
stor\-.  to  occupy  rooms  with  broken  bell-ropes  ;  and  young  men 
in  immaculate  standing  collars  and  tight  boots  are  "  colonized  " 
thirteen  blocks  away  from  the  big  hotels. 

When  they  arrive  from  their  quarters  for  breakfast  they  are 
exhausted  with  fcitigue — their  h^^ggard  forms  wilt  down  with 
their  shirt  collars,  and  their  boots  are  frosted  with  the  sacred  soil 
of  Saratoga. 

Think  of  nice  }-oung  men — Fifth  Avenue  beaux — spending 
almost  all  their  time  in  dreary  pilgrimages  to  and  from  their 
rooms.  Think  of  wearing  a  dress  suit  for  two  mrles,  through  crowds 
of  curious  villagers,  and  then  appearing  at  a  morning  Congress 
Hall  German,  with  a  dress-coat  frosted  with  the  floating  simoom 
kicked  up  by  Barnum's  Circus.  H  ^•^^^'^ 

One  interesting  youth, 
who  boasts  a  $75,000  in- 
come, is  colonized  almost 
over  to  the  race  track.  He 
proposes  to  watch  the 
race  from  the  third-story 
window  of  his  secluded 
dwelling.  He  communi- 
cates with  Mr.  Hathorn 
entirely  by  means  of  the 
telegraph.       He     says     he 

thinks  he  should  lik^  Sara-  swell  n  y.  bov. 

toga,  for  he  is  much  pleased  when  he  comes  in  on  an  occasidrial 
visit.     The  happiest  being  in  Saratoga  is 


140 


/|^ 


-^  •  — 

/ 


OI-D    DOG    BRAVE, 

the    b'\\^     New  fouiuUand  at    Congress    Hall.     Brave    is 
always  happy  and  w  ell  fed  wlien  the    hotel    is   full    and 
wiien  business  goes  on  well,  but  let    the   coaches  come 
"'^'^^^  empty  and  go  full,  atrd  the 

faithful    old     animal     gets 
rnan}'  a  kick.      He  has  got 
the  thing  learned   by  heart 
POOR  BUAVB.  now,    for    let     the    coaches 

drive  up  full  and  you  will  see  him  standing  with  his  tail  wagging, 
and  his  great  honest  bow  !  wow  !  !  wow  ! !  !  will  sound  aloncr  the 
corridors.  But  let  them  come  empty,  and  you  will  see  him  with 
his  tail  between  his  legs,  trying  to  get  away  from  the  threatening 
proximity  of  the  Chesterfieldian  Hathorn's  boot. 


\1^ 

—  •  — - 


<>  V^\^ 


HUT  1 


^1^ 


141 


^1^ 


/ 


V 


MR.  PERKINS  GOES  TO  THE  CLARENDON. 

Saratoga,  August  17th. 

My  exposition  of  the  gossip,  committees,  and  funeral  proces- 
sions at  the  Clarendon,  has  caused  much  excitement  among  the 
aristocratic  inmates  of  that  hotel.  They  waited  on  Mr.  Charles 
Lcland  yesterday  and  requested  that  he  should  invite  me  to  visit 
the  Clarendon  officially  and  ascertain  the  truth  or  falsity  of  the 
reports.     Mr.  L.  sent  me  the  following  letter: 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Perkins,  Congress  Hall — 
Many  of  my  aristocratic  guests  are  grieved 
at  the  reports  which  have  gained  credence 
^^^  jni  M  'Ij^V  relative  to  the  young  gentlemen  holding  the 
r^  JHflEI  ^  ■  young  ladies'  hands,  evenings,  on  the  hotel 
balconies.  They  also  say  that  it  is  a  very 
common  thing  for  them  to  be  seen  smiling, 
and  that  dancing  is  not  an  unknown  amuse- 
ment among  them.  I  now  invite  you  to 
come  and  investigate  for  yourself.  I  assign 
for  the  use  of  yourself  and  wife  a  suite  of  cheerful  front  rooms 
overlooking  the  Catholic  church  and  the  graveyard,  from  the 
windows  of  which  you  will  be  able  to  see  everything  going  on  in 
our  hotel. 

"  The  chairmen  of  the  different  committees — on  incomes,  pedi- 
grees, dyed  hair,  and  scolding  husbands — will  report  directly  to 
you  every  mornin  and  every  facility  will  be  given  you  to  ascer- 
tain the  truth.     Yours,  affectionately, 

"  Clarendon  Hotel,  Aug.  16.  C.   Leland." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  to  my  readers  that  I  have  accepted 
Mr.  Leland's  invitation,  and  that  I  shall  leave  Congress  Hall  for 
the  retired  shades  of  the  Clarendon.  I  go  in  the  interest  of 
truth — I  go  to  see  for  myself.  I  go  for  thirty-five  thousand 
Commercial  readers,  who  desire  to  know  the  unvarnished  facts 


COME    AND    SEE 


^1^ 


142 


—  •  — 

/ 


A    POOR    MAxM. 

Last  night,  between  the  sets,  I  strayed  out  into  the  hotel 
corridors  and  ran  upon  an  old  silver-haired  friend  from  Wash- 
ington Heights.  He  was  in  great  distress.  He 
would  puff  his  cigar  a  moment  with  great 
energy — then  he  would  settle  himself  back  in  his 
chair  and  soliloquise.  He  seemed  like  one  on 
the  verge  of  committing  some  heinous  crime.  I 
looked  him  square  in  the  face,  but  he  was  so 
HORACE.  busy  with  his  mutterings  that  he  did  not  notice 

me.  I  jogged  against  him,  but  he  only  pulled  his  hat  lower  over 
his  eyes  and  clenched  his  teeth  more  securely  upon  his  stump  of 
a  cigar.  Not  knowing  but  what  his  seeming  remorse  of  con- 
science was  about  to  betray  him  into  a  confession  of  some  terrible 
crime,  I  listened  to  Tiis  mutterings.  This  is  just  what  he  said  : 
"  Horace,  you  are  a  fool.  You  don't  know  when  you  are  well 
off.  You  ought  to  be  kicked.  There  you  were  in  the  nicest, 
cosiest  house  on  Washington  Heights — away  from  dust  and 
cinders — a  big  yard,  splendid  flower  garden,  and  a  cool  breeze 
blowing  all  day  long  around 
you.  You  were  the  happiest 
man  in  New  York.  You  sat 
on  your  own  cool  porch — you 
enjoyed  your  fragrant  partaga 
— your  friends  dropped  in — 
the  servants  made  the  nicest 
ices  and  cobblers,  and  Oh  !  " 
he  moaned,  "  how  happy  we 
all  were  !  "  Then  he  leaned 
forward  on  his  hands,  groaned 
— and  was  silent.  A  moment, 
and  his  mutterings  com- 
menced again.  "  Horace,  you  "  look  at  yochski  f  ! 


r"jf^* 


/t^ 


143 


/* 


arc  a  d^ d    fool  !    Look  at  yourself.    Jostled,  crowded,  bored. 

High  hat,  black  coat,  kid  gloves  !   Ugh  !  Wife  dancing  up-stairs, 
and  Horace  here  melting  with  the  heat. 

"  O  dear,"  he  moaned,  "  my  dear  wife  will  kill  me.  I  didn't 
want'  to  come  ;  we  haven't  any  girls  to  bring  out.  She  said,  '  O^ 
dear  Horace,  it  will  be  so  nice  : '  and  I  turned  my  back  on  the 
happiest  home,  the  loveliest  garden,  to  come  and  sit  on  these 
infernal,  dusty,  .scorching,  crowded  balcoiiies  !  O  FtOTace,  you 
are  a  darned  old  idiot !  "  and  then  he  started  up  with  a  wild  stare 
in  his  eye.  and  strided  toward  the  t)alI-room — a  miserable,  un- 
happy victim  of  too  much  love  and  confidence — in  his  wife! 


—  •  — 
\ 


e 


144 


/|N 


—  *  — 

\ 


^IhJtR 


ISKM'MI 


Clarendon  Hotel,  Saratoga,  August  i8. 

I  am  here  !  I  came  yesterday.  I  am  happy.  I  was  glad  to  get 
away  from  vulgar  people  who  live  down  in  the  village,  and  glad 
to  come,  up  here  among  the  nobility.  My  suite  of  rooms  over- 
looks e^?eryth|J■^g  nice — the  balconies,  the  graveyard,  the  Catholic 
church,  the  aristocratic  shoc)ti|(ig  gallery,  and  the  revolving 
caravansary  of  wooden  hotS^fe  where  our  aristocratic  children 
ride  with  the  sons  of  the  oth^i"  ndbility. 

The  hand-organ  which  accompanies  the  children  in  their 
aristocratic  amusement  w^^  impotted  by  one  of  the  old  Roman 
families — one  of  the  ^or^/z^j?  whose' ancestors  own  the  Borghese 
gallery  and  the  villa  outside' of  the  Pizza  del  Popolo. 

The  m'u:3iQian  hasn't  a  tooth  in  his  head, 
and  yet  Jie  plays  the  most  aristocratic  airs 
with  one  hand. 

Mr.  Levy,  who  bugles  down  at  the 
Grand  Union,  has  to  wear  eye-glasses. 

It  is  the  mode  to  be  exclusive  here,  and» 
not  to  know  any  one.  My  name  has  been 
before  the  committees  on  incomes,  pedi- 
I  understand  that  I  have  passed  all  but  the 
last.  My  name,  as  recorded  in  the  Secretary's  book,  reads  thus  : 
"  Mr.  E.  Perkins,  author  and  litterateur  ;  income,  $5,000  ;  pedigree, 
son  of  Judge  Perkins  ;  grandfather  on  Governor  Trumbull's  staff 
in  the  Revolution.  Flirtation — Has  been  seen  holding  young 
lady's  hand  at  Congress  Hall — unsatisfactory. 

W.\TCHIXG   THE    BALCONY. 

Last  night  I  watched  the  hotel  balcony  with  the  old  Quaker 
lady  all  night.     Morning  found  my  haggard  forni  still  hanging 


grees  and  flirtation. 


M5 


J 


^-  •  — 

/ 


—  •  — 


out  of  the  window.  I  saw  no  flirting,  or  anything  which  looked 
like  ft'.  The  only  disturbing  noise  w^as  the  Catholic  priests 
coming  to  early  mass  this  morning;  I  heard  them  grumbling 
under  my  window  because  they  had  to  get  up  so  early.  I  did 
not  blame  them.  I  swear  myself  whenever  awakened  before 
eight  A.  M.  So  did  Thomson,  who  wrote  the  "  Seasons."  This 
book  sold  well,  and  he  made  a  good  deal  of  money  advising 
other  people  to  get  up  early,  but  he  was  careful  himself  to  sleep 
till  ten  A.  M.    • 

T  think  I  was  deceived  when  I  wrote  about  the  young  gentle- 
men holding  the  hands  , of  the  Clarendon  yomig  ladies.  Such 
reports  cannot  be  true. 

Far  different. 

But   I   do  believe  that  they  do  this  hand-holding  business  at 

Congress  Hall.     Here  the  principal  recreation  is  to  sit  up  prim. 

1    have   been    introduced   to  but  one  gentleman  and  his  wife. 

We  have  formed  a  clique.     No  one  can  get  into  our  clique.    We 

sit  by  ourselves  all  day  and  stun  people  with  aristocratic  looks. 

We  occupy  twelve  chairs  with  India-shawls,  umbrellas,  and  such 

ari.stocratic  books  as  Disraeli's  novel,  the  Galaxy,  and  \h.&  Atlantic. 

Sometimes  we  look  haughty,  and  talk  loud  enough  to  be  heard 

by  the  common  people  around  us.  When  I  came  down,  this 
morning.  Mrs.  De  Livingstone  remarked,  "  My  dear,  your  eyes 
look  all  bunged-up." 

"  I  dined  late  with  a  jolly  party  of  larkers."  I  remarked. 

"  One  has  to  do  something  to  kill  time  in  the  absence  of  the 
opera  and  our  accustomed  society,"  said  Mrs.  De  L. 

"  Yes,  it  is  devilish  pokey."  said  Mr.  De  L.,  "  to  sit  here  all 
day  without  saying  anything  ;  but,  you  know,  it  is  very  common 
to  be  talking  to  people  who  may  not  belong  to  our  set." 

I'hcn  we  all  yawned,  fumbled  the  magazines,  wished  for 
another  funeral  procession,  and  sighed  for  the  arrivalof  the. 
evening  paper. 

I  don't  know  how  long  I  can  stand  it  here.  Mrs.  De  L.  says 
"  she  does  w  ish  it  was  time  to  ^o  back  to  New  York."  So  does 
ever>-body  at  the  Clarendon.  If  the  Commercial  could  only 
come  three  times  a  day,  life  here  would  be  delightful. 

Do  send  it  ofleJier 


nI/ 


.rOSmiA    AND    EI,i. 


JOSH    BILLINGS    INTERVIEWED. 

My  old  friend  Josh  Billings  arrived  yesterday,  and  il  did  nu- 
good  to  gel  away  from  the  Clarendon  to  have  a  good  s([uare  old 
religious  talk  with  him.  To  be  frank,  I'm  sick  of  being  aristo- 
cratic. 

Josh  Billings  is  a  kuss,  and  I  like  to  be  with  him.  lie  has 
just  finished  another  book,  but  Carleton  won't  publish  it.  lie's 
afraid  his  old  customers  will  get  it  and  laugh  themselves  to  death. 
Josh  and  I  adjourned  over  to  my  old  room  at  Congress  Hall,  and 
we  had  a  long  talk  about  the  infallibility  of  the  Church,  our  old 
friends,  Artemus  Ward,  John  PlKjenix,  Mark  Twain  and  Mr, 
Shillaber.  Josh  is  as  young  and  fresh  a.^'  he  was  twenty  years 
ago.  His  hair  hangs  in  a  court  train  over  his  shirt-collar.  It  is 
sprinkled  with  gi-ay,  but  the  old  fire  is  up  in  his  eye.  (  asked 
him  a  good  many  (j.iestions  and  I  give  y(;u  his  answers.  Like 
General  Sherman,  lie  answers  as  short  and  (|uick  as  a  streak  of 


4/ 


/|N 


/ 


^'/ V 

chain   li-htning      He  handed  me  a    Parta^a   III    when   1   com 
menced  : 

"  Mr.  Billings,  where  were  you  educated  >  " 

"  Tordunk,  Pennsylvania. 

"  How  old  are  you  ? " 

"  I  was  born   150  years  old— and  have  been  growing  young 

ever  since." 

"  Arc  you  married  .'' " 

* 
"  Once." 

"  How  many  children  have  you  ^  " 

"  Doublets." 

"  What  did  you  come  to  Saratoga  for  ^" 

"  I  kan't  tel.     Kin  you  ? " 

"  What  other  vices  have  you  .'*  " 

"  None." 

"  Have  you  any  virtues  ? " 

"  Several." 

"  What  are  they  .-*  " 

"  I  left  them  in  New  York." 

"  Do  you  gamble  .■*  " 

"  When  I  feel  good." 

"  What  is  your  profession  ^" 

"  Agriculture  and  alminaxing." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  an  interviewer  ?" 

"  He's  a  leetle  worse  than  an  organ-grinder." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  your  deficient  knowledge   in   spel- 

ling  r 

"  Bad  spells  during  infancy,  and  poor  memory." 

"  What  things  are  you  thc^  most  liable  to  forget  ^" 

"  Sermons  and  debts." 

"  What  professions  do  you  like  best  .'" 

"  Auctioneering,  base-ball,  and  theology." 

"  Do  you  smoke  ^" 

"  Thank  you,  I'll  take  a  Partaga  first." 

^i'^^  7^8  ^^ 


0/  >6 

-/ ~  \ 

"  What  is  your  worst  habit  ?" 

"  The  coat  I  got  last  in  Poughkeepsie." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Grant  ?" 

"  I  am  in  favor  of  the  PRESENT  administration." 

"  Who  is  the  best  man  in  the  Ring  ?" 

"  Dan  Rice." 

"  Worst  man  ?" 

"  Tweed — as  far  as  heard  from." 

"  What  are  yc5ur  favorite  books  .-*" 

"  My  alminack  and  Commodore  Vanderbilt's  pocketbook." 

"  What  is  your  favorite  piece  of  sculpture .-'" 

"  The  mile  stone  nearest  home." 

"  What  is  your  favorite  animal  ?" 

"  The  "mule." 

"  Why  r 

"  Because  he  never  blunders  with  his  heels." 

"  What  was  the  best  thing  said  by  our  old  friend  Artemus 
Ward  r 

"  All  the  pretty  girls  in  Utah  vaaLrry  young!' 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  San  Domingo  question  .''" 

"  If  it  don't  interfere  with  the  Santa  Cruz  (rum)  question  Pm 
in  favor  of  it." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  Indian  question  .-'" 

"  I  think  all  good  Injuns  like  good  hr okQxs  die  young!' 

"  Do  you  beheve  in  the  final  salvation  of  all  men  .''" 

"  I  do — let  me  pick  the  men  !" 

The  dinner  hour  now  arrived,  and  we  adjourned  to  a  special 
course  of  woodcock  and  black  bass,  furnished  in  a  private  room 
at  Congress  Hall.  After  dinner  Josh  reviewed  my  interview,  and 
pronounced  it  faithfully  rendered.  He  wished  to  add  only  that 
Mr.  Carleton  who  publishes  his  alminack,  and  Mr.  Sheldon  who 
publishes  this  book,  are  the  most  immense  intellect  of  this  or 
any  other  country. 


/* 


—  •  — 


MR    PERKINS   MOURNS    BECAUSE    HE   DOES   NOT 
DANCE  THE   ROUND  DANCES. 

Congress  Hall,  Aug.  i8. 

I  arrived  here  from  the  Clarendon  this  morning.  I  bfought 
m\-  iWnv^s  with  me.  When  it  leaked  out  that  I  absented  myself 
hum  the  hotel  to  spend  an  afternoon  with  Mr.  Billings,  they  said 
I  must  go.  The  pedigree  committee  said,  "  There  is  no  use 
trying  to  make  Mr.  Perkins  aristocratic.  He  is  wedded  to  his 
idols.  He  is  so  fond  of  fun — so  fond  of  people  of  wit  and 
intellect,  that  he  \\411  find  them,  even  if  he  has  to  go  among  the 
vulgar.  He  will  go  and  talk  to  people  who  write  for  magazines, 
who  write  books,  and  among  young  ladies  who  talk  satire,  sing 
opera,  and  tell  anecdotes.  He  prefers  enjoying  himself  to  being 
aristocratic." 

These  ladies  got  pretty  near  the  truth. 

While  I  like  the  idea  of  being  aristocratic  I  find  it  very  stupid 
business  to  keep  it  up  for  any  length  of  time. 

I  do  not  enjoy  dreary  people.  I  don't  enjoy  dreary  news- 
papers, like  the  National  Intelligencer  and  the  Post.  So  I  siglied 
secretly  for  the  wit,  the  sentiment,   and   the  sparkling   eyes   of 

Congress  Hall. 

TERRIBLE    DEVELOPMENT, 

In  my  Clarendon  investigations  I  was  ably  assisted  by  the 

ladies.     They  told  me  everything  about  everybody  in  the  hotel — 

how  long  Mr.  Green  had  been  divorced,  about  Mrs.  Smith's  dyed 

hair,    and    how    Mrs.    Brown    enamelled. 

They  said  one  old  husband  did  scold  his 

wife  horribly^  but  that  the  wife  got  even 

by  flirting  with  a  young  Englishman  when 

the  governor  went  to  New  York.     They 

told  me  how  Mrs.  Thomp.son  wore  a  dress 

on  which  was  $3,000  worth  of  real  lace  ; 

and  how  somebody  had  been  seen  coming 

TotNo  EKGLI8HMAN.         ^^^   ^^  somcbody   clsc's   Toom  at  twelve 
o'clock  at  night. 

~^!^  ~o  '\^ 


^1/ 


WE    READ    "  EVERT    SATURDAY. 


This  is  the  way  the  old  aristo- 
cratic ladies  went  on. 

THE  YOUNG  LADIES 
were  full  of  small  statistics,  but 
they  did  not  gossip  on  so  large  a 
scale.  They  told  me  where  to  buy 
six-button  gloves,  who  made  the 
best  caramels,  and  who  wore  the 
first  Cretonne  suits  in  New 
York. 

"  Do  you  read  the  papers  .^"  I 
asked. 

"  O,  yes  ;  we  read  all  about  the  weddings,  and  the  parties,  the 
engagements,  and  the  fashionable  news." 

"  Do  you  like  '  Dame  Europa's  School  ?'  " 

"  No,  we  don't  like  any  school  except  dancing  school." 

"  How  do  you  like  '  Ginx's  Baby.'''  " 

"  Oh  we  think  all  babies  are  dreadful.  Does  Mrs.  Ginx  bring 
her  baby  to" the  table  ?  Mother  keeps  Johnny  with  the  nurse  all 
the  time.     We  never  see  him." 

"  Did  you  read  All  the  Year  Rounds 

"  All  the  year  round  !  Good  gracious  !  Do  you  think  we  are 
bluestockings.''" 

''  Do  you  read  Once  a  Week}" 

"  Well,  sometimes  not  half  as  often  as  that,  especially  in  win- 
ter, when  there  are  so  many  parties.  Oh,  parties  are  so  lovely — 
perfectly  divine  !" 

"  I  suppose  you  used  to  read  Every  Saturday  V 
"  O  yes,  we  read  the  society  papers  every  Saturday.  They  say 
awful  nice  things — how  a  certain  young  lady  was  '  much  admired,' 
and  how  '  Miss  Snow  is  a  great  favorite  in  society.'  Dear  me, 
some  of  us  had  our  names  in  twenty-seven  times  last  winter  !  Oh, 
they  are  jolly  nice." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  Nation  T' 

"  O  dear  !  we  don't  think  of  anything  outside  of  our  set.     We 


—  •  — 

\ 


^F 


151 


/i^ 


A/ \\<L. 

\ 

don't    know  an>1:hing  i<bout  the  nation.     Politics  are  horrid— 
perfectly  dreadful  !" 

"  Do  you  like  the  Atlantic  f ' 

"  O  my!  we  never  went  out  an)-  further  than  the  Branch  and 
down  to  the  Fort  Hamilton  hops.  Those  officers  do  dance  too 
lovely  !     And  such  nice  flirts — perfectly  atrocious  !" 

Ami  so  the  aristocratic  young  ladies  laenton. 
El. I    IN    TEARS. 

I  was  very  much  amused  and  instructed.  I  wanted  to  stay 
with  them  forever.  It  did  me  good  to  sit  at  the  fountain  of  wis- 
dom, to  drink  in  a  perpetual  flow  of  soul,  and  to  feast  on  reason^ 
I  felt  that  my  early  education  had  been  neglected — that  I  had 
read  Homer  and  Virgil  in  vain — that  when  I  was  standing  in 
Moscow  and  in  the  dazzling  court  of  St.  Petersburg,  it  were  better 
had  I  been  in  the  whirl  of  the  Fort  Hamilton  round-dances — at 
the  Branch — on  Avenue  Y,  reading  society  newspapers.  O  !  I 
sigh,  in  the  anguish  of  m>'  heart, —  would  that  I  had  directed  my 
education  in  other  channels — would  that  every  book  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  sea — would  that  art  and  architecture  had  not  drawn 
me  aside  from  the  festive  dance — would  that  the  palaces  of  the 
CsEsars,  the  Milan  cathedrals,  the  ruins  of  Keckler,  and  the  great 
dome  of  St.  Paul's  were  in  chaos!  Would  that  Dickens  and  Ruskin 
and  Humboldt,  and  old  Hugh  Miller  had  never  lived — and  that 
the  coloring  of  Rembrandt  and  Raphael  and  Rubens  had 
gone  out  like  the  colors  of  a  rainbow  !  How  will  it  profit  a  man 
if  he  gains  the  whole  world — and  fails  to  dance  the  German  .'' 
After  death,  comes  the  judgment.  How  can  I  die  without  learn- 
jng  to  dance  the  round-dances .''  I  am  a  hopeless,  ruined  man. 
I  have  cultivated  my  brain,  while  my  heels  have  rested  idly  in 
my  boots.  I  can  write — I  have  made  a  book — I  can  demon- 
strate the  XXXVI  of  Euclid,  but  I  cannot  dance  the  "  dip  !"  May 
the  Lord  have  mercy  on  me,  and  not  utterlj-  cast  me  off  because 
I  have  not  learned  these  things.     Amen  ! 

So  I  went  on 


'  Is2 


^f^ 


\/ xl/ 

7 V 

ECLIPSE  OF  THE  GAS  WORKS. 

CONCRESS  Hall,  Saratoga.  August  19. 

Yes,  I  have  returned  ! 

The  Clarendonites  invited  me  very  warmly  to  go  a\\a\',  but 
this  was  not  the  only  cause  of  my  coming  back.  Dcc(1s  were 
done  generally  and  liberties  were  committed,  particularly  against 
my  person,  at  that  aristocratic  hotel,  which  outraged  my,  sense 
of  propriety  and  justice. 

On  Friday  night,  while  the  committees  on  pedigree,  income, 
and  old  maids  were  sitting  in  the  parlor,  the  gas  suddenly  went 
out. 


The  gas-works  had  used  its  last  barrel  of  oil  and  the  supply  of 
material  was  exhausted.  It  was  Egyptian  darkness.  The  face 
of  a  black  waiter  made  a  light  spot  in  the  room.  All  Saratoga 
was  in  darkness.  "  The  Sun  "  office  had  only  one  candle.  The 
Saratogian  lighted  up  two  old  "  Wide-awake "  lamps.  The 
Chesterfieldian  Hathorn,  with  one  candle  in  a  bottle,  went  around, 
like  Diogenes  with  his  lantern,  looking  for  an  honest  man. 
"  Alas  !  I  found  £>«<?,"  he  said,  "but  he  was  sitting  on  the  stairs  with 
a  young  lady  from  5th  Avenue."  During  the  darkness,  Dr.  Ha- 
milton's chief  bass  singer  gave  out,  and  Dr.  Strong  adjourned  his 
prayer  meeting. 

It  was  just  in  this  darkness  that  light  came  to  me  all  at  once 
at  the  Clarendon. 

It  was  ten  o'clock. 

The  stage  drove  up  from  the  depot.  Almost  every  lady  ex- 
pected her  husband  on  the  train.  Many  young  ladies  expected 
their  sweethearts.  Neither  the  stage,  the  driver,  nor  the  horses 
were  visible.     From  force  of  habit  the  passengers   felt  their  way 

ihe  reception-room.     I  got  niixed  up  with  the  crowd. 


~  IV 


■—  •  — 

\ 


Twenty-five  married  ladies,  seven  old 
maids,  and  four  young  ladies  com- 
menced greeting  the  passengers  in  the 
darkness. 

"  My  dear  William  !  why  did  you 
stay  so  long?"  exclaimed  a  sweet  young 
wife,  and  then  she  threw  her  arms 
around  my  neck — our  lips  met,  I  wasn't 
going  to  be  a  "  darned  "  fool. 

Far  different. 

MY    DEAR    W1L1>IA.M. 

Now,  a  dear,  sweet,  liquid-eyed  brunette  threw  her  arms  wild- 
1)'  around  me.  "  O,  Eugene,  why  did  you  not  \yrite  oftener  .^" 
she  sobbed,  and  then  she  sank  sweetly  on  my  bosom.  I  said, 
"  Weep  not,  Julia,"  and  then  I  kissed  her  sweetly  twenty-two 
times.  It  w-as  delicious.  It  made  me  think  of  my  first  wife  and 
my  college  days  at  Yale. 

A  ponderous  matron  now  approached — dress  decolletce,  hair  a  la 
Pompadour.  She  took  me  in  her  arms  and  whispered,  "  O, 
Charles,  did  you  bring  my  beautiful  dog — did  you  .''" 

"  Madame,  my  name  is  not  Charles,  and  I  hate  dogs.  I'd  kill 
every  d-d-d-."  but  she  fell  fainting  at  my  feet. 

A  sweet,  golden-haired  blonde  now 
took  my  hand.  She  pressed  it  gently, 
saying  :  "  Dear  Albert,  I  know  it  is  you, 
and  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  ! 

"  You  won't  dance  with  Lizzie  Smith, 
now,  will  you  .''  Now,  do  promise  me  !" 
I  said  1  wouldn't.  Then  she  held  her 
cheek  close  to  mine.  It  was  hot  with 
love's  young  hope  and  sweet  affection. 
We  were  very  happy.  None  but  a 
wicked  man  would  have  brought  sad- 


^1^ 


'54 


—  •  — 


nessto  this  pure  )'Oung  heart — full  of  confidence,  warm   with  \ir- 
gin  affection,  and  beautiful  with  splendid  girlishness. 

"  Do  you  still  love  me,  Albert  ?"  she  whispered. 

"  Undoubtedly,"   I  remarked. 

"  How  much,  darling  .'" 

"  A  heap." 

"  O,  1  am  too  happy!"  she  murmured,  as  she  twisted  her 
fingers  in  my  auburn  hair  and  held  me  in  a  sweet  embrace. 

This  sort  of  thing  went  on  for  seventeen  minutes,  when  C. 
Leland  appeared  in  the  distance  with  a  tallow  candle.  I  quietly 
withdrew  and  mingled  unobserved  in  the  crowd.  As  the  candle 
appeared,  twenty-seven  young  gentlemen  were  seen  shaking  hands 
with  as  many  young  ladies  in  the '  different  corners.  I  have 
seldom  seen  such  a  display  of  affection.  One  married  gentleman 
was  holding  the  hands  of  two  ladies. 

,The  hair  of  the  ladies  was  generally  crimpless,  while  the  hair 
of  the  young  gentlemen  did  not  display  a  parting  place. 

I  reflected,  "  How  kin  such  things  be,  and  overcome  us  like  a 
summer  shower.?"  I  consulted  with  J.  Billings.  He  says  they 
kan't.  So  I  resolved  to  leave  the  place.  I  came  back  to  Con- 
gress Hall  and  found  the  young  ladies  and  young  gentlemen 
having  a  grand  ball  by  candle  light.  Each  young  lady  held  in 
her  hand  a  penny  dip.  They  flew  through  the  lancers  like 
ghosts  in  "  Macbeth."  Eight  streaks  of  light  made  a  terrible 
criss-cross,  as  the  dance  went  on.  When  the  grand  chain  came, 
the  lights  revolved  like  a  gigantic  fourth-of-July  pin-wheel. 

It  was  a  great  night  for  Saratoga. 

Seventeen  young  people  of  the  Clarendon  and  fifteen  of  Con- 
gress Hall  became  engaged  that  night.  The  }'oung  kn  ers  liked 
it — the  darkness.  Some  flirting  old  bachelors  took  advantage  of 
the  darkness  too.  Mothers  in  many  instances  tied  veils  over  the 
faces  of  their  daughters.     Why,  alas!   I  am  ashamed  to  tell. 

Some  prefer  darkness  rather  than  light,  because  their  ways  ai'c 
evil.     I  do. 


"l^  .55  ^'^ 


—  •  — 

\ 


TO  SLEEP. 

When  people  came  to  go  to  bed  there  was  a  great  demand  for 
candles.  There  were  twelve  hundred  people  at  Congress  Hall- 
two  hundred  candlesticks  and  three  hundred  bottles — five  hun- 
dred lights  in  all. 

Voun'i  gentlemen  stood  outside  of  doors  while  sweethearts 
undressed  and  handed  the  candle  ov^r  the  transcient.  Old  men 
slept  with  their  boots  on,  because  they  could 
not  find  the  bootjack.  Married  men  got  into 
the  wrong  rooms,  and  only  found  out  their  mis- 
take the  next  morning. 

An  old  lady  bathed  her  face  with  Harrison's 
Columbian  ink  to  cure  the  toothache.     She 
thought  it  was  a  bottle  of  Pain-Killer.     She  discovered  her  mis- 
take just  before  coming  to  breakfast. 

Mr.  Saxe  borrowed  a  candle  of  a  beautiful  young  lady.     The 
next  morning  she  found  under  her  door  these  beautiful  lines  : 

"  You  gave  me  a  candle  ;  I  give  you  my  thanks, 
And  add  as  a  compliment  justly  your  due — 
There  is  not  a  girl  in  these  feminine  ranks 
Who  could,  if  she  would,  hold  a  candle  to  you. ' 


1^6 


/f^ 


\1/ 

—  •  — 


ir"' 


■^'h 

'^■ 

x 


The  following  was  picked  up  on 
Congress  Hall  balcony  the  next 
morning  after  the  eclipse  of  the  gas 
works  : 

X^  _  Gro,  fragrant  breath  of  summer  flowers — 

>,        Go  sigh  it  East  and  West ; 

Say,  "  I've  been  kissed — so  sweetly  kissed 
By  one  that  I  love  best." 

Upon  my  own  his  glowing  lips 

In  fervor  fondly  pressed  ; 
And  though  we  never  spoke  a  word, 

We  each  our  love  confessed. 


^^. 


157 


^1^ 


nI/_ 


—  •  — 

\ 


TliE  GREAT  SCANDAL  CASES. 

BARONS   AND   JUDGES    IMPLICATED. 

Saratoga,  Aug.  2 1 
The  other  day,  at  the  suggestion  of  several  wags  at  Congress 
Hall,  who  couldn't  live  without  their  daily  joke,  I  put  the  follow- 
uig  ni  my  correspondence  from  here  : 

SCANDAL. 


Rkadi.vg  the  scanda;.. 


The  two  great  scandals  at 
the  Clarendon  are  finally  out. 
The  married  ladies  are  mixed 
up,  and  several  aristocratic 
families  are  compromised.  .  I 
cannot  promise  full  particulars 
till  to-morrow. 

Heavens  !  what  a  commo- 
tion those  four  little  lines 
caused  in  Saratoga.  Every 
gossip  was  on  the  qui-vive. 
The  great  hotels  resolved  themselves  into  investigating  commit- 
tees, evcr\-bod\'  became  si'spicious,  and  society  was  generally 
upset. 

At  the  Clarendon  it  fell  like  a  moral  earthquake  among  the 
unhappy  guests.  Everybody  was  looked  upon  with  suspicions, 
and  that  great  social  Congress  resolved  itself  into  two 
parties — the  watchers  and  the  watched.  Each  lady  looked  upon 
the  other  with  distrust.  People  communicated  in  subdued  whis- 
pers. Wives  kept  close  to  their  husbands,  and  sweethearts  never 
for  once  left  the  conspicuous  glare  of  the  front  balcony  seats. 
Old  bachelors,  who  heretofore  had  been  tolerated  as  objects  of 
pity  by  young  and  pretty  married  ladies,   were  cut  dead.     Even 


\ 

—  •  — 

/IN 


158 


— •  •  — 

/ 


—  •  — 


tlicir  bouquets  were  refused,  and  evcrybod)'  behaved  witii  a 
propriety  as  stiff  and  prim  as  a  Queen's  dra\vin<^-room.  Mrs. 
Jones  read  the  paragraph  and  whispered  something  about  Mrs. 
Green.  Mrs.  Green  had  her  suspicions  of  Mrs.  Jones,  but  she 
told  Jones  to  watch  Mrs.  Smith.  The  cHques  drew  closer 
together,  and  everybody  waited  breathlessly  for  the  develop- 
ments. 

THE   JOKE   A   SUCCESS. 

Hardly  had  I  finished  my  breakfast  and  the  Saraiogian  the 
next  morning,  before  I  received  a  note  from  the  Clarendon.  It 
was  written  on  heavy  tinted  cream  paper,  surmounted  by  a 
beautiful  monogram,  the  letters  A.  J.  C. 


(American  Jockey  Club)  being 
beautifully  interwoven.  It  read 
thus  : 


"  Mr. E.Perkins,  Congress  Hall : 

"  I  notice  the  paragraph  in  the 
Commercial.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
you  will  not  use  names.  I  am 
an  old,  gray-haired  man.  I 
have  lived  a  life  of  usefulness, 
and  have  been  long  honored  as 
a  member  of  the  open  Board  of 
Brokers  in  New  York.  If  I  have  been  indiscreet  in  a  thoughtless 
moment,  I  beg  of  you  not  to  ruin  ever>'thing  by  using  my  name 
in  connection  with  any  developments  which  you  propose  to  make. 
Come  and  see  me.     I  will  remain  in  my  room  all  day. 

"  Yours,  H.  Z.  D R." 

"  Clarendon,  August  19. 


ELI    READING    HIS    MAIL, 


^l^ 


159 


'1^ 


\l/  


/ 


1  went  to  my  room  to  read  this  letter,  but  1  had  liardly  finished 
it  when  rat!  ta  ! !  ta  !! !  came  at  my  door,  and  a  servant  handed 
mc  the  followinsj  : 
■  Mr.  Perkins  :  Respected  Sir  : 

"  As  Ciod  is  my  witness,  you  have  been  wrongly  informed  if  you 
have  heard  anything  detrimental  to  my  character.  I  have  been 
a  vestryman  of  Grace  Church  for  fifteen  years.  I  am  incapable 
of  any  such  actions  ;  besides,  I  have  a  devoted  wife,  and  we  are 
ver>-  fond  of  each  other.  I  gave  $25,000  to  the  Dudley  Obser- 
vatory and  $50,000  to  Cornell  University,  and  have  been  a 
subscriber  to  the  COMMERCIAL  for  seventeen  years.  I  am 
incapable  of  such  indiscretion.  V.'hatever  other  church-members 
do.  I  am  as  pure  as  a  new-born  babe.  Come  and  see  me  or  give 
us  your  company  at  dinner.  I  am  almost  always  at  church  or  on 
the  balcony  with  my  wife. 

"  Very  respectfully,  G.  Y    .S. N' 

"   Clarendon,  August  19.  - 

I  had  hardly  finished  reading  the  above  when  Judge  K . 


\ 


of  the  Supreme  Court,  entered  my  r  >om  unannounced.  He 
looked  confused.  His  eyes  wandered  around  the  room  while  he 
twisted  his  whiskers  and  bit  oft"  the  ends. 

"  Have  you  granted  the  injunction  in  the  case  of  the  twenty- 
seven  ladies  of  Congress  Hall  versus  John  R.  Cecil  for  loud 
snoring  .-* "  I  asked. 

"  No,  but  I  will  do  it  instantly  if  you  will  do  one  thing  for 
me."  said  the  Judge  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

"  What  >.  " 

"  Well,  in  this  scandal  case  don't  use  my  name.  You  know  I 
live  at  the  Clarendon.  I've  been  on  the  bench  sixteen  years. 
I  may  have  been  indiscreet  this  time.  Every  man  is  liable  to  be 
indiscreet  some  time.  Even  Jefferson  Davis  was  not  infallible. 
Besides,  everybody  knows  me  in  New  York.  What  would  Judges 
Barnard  and  Bixby  and  Ingraham  think  of  me  after  such  an 
exposure  .-■ " 

\  -^  /IN 


Nt/ 


\ 


"  Never  mind,  Judge,  '  mum's  the  word.'  " 

"  One  thing  more,"  said  the  Judge,  lingering. 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Well.  I've  always  been  the  confidential  attorney  for  Mrs.  Z. 
She's  an  estimable  widow  lady.  She  may  have  been  carried 
away  for  a  moment  by  this  man's  villainy  ;  but,  sir,  she  is  a  good 
woman — highly  connected.  She  explained  all  how  it  happened 
to  me.  She  is  very  sorry,  and  she  wished  me  to  come  and  see 
you  about  it." 

"  Why,  Judge,  you  surprise  me.  I  didn't  know  anything  about 
any  scandal  case.  I  put  that  paragraph  in  as  a  joke — that  was 
a  Congress  Hall  joke,  and  I  thought  you  were  so  very  pure  up 
there  that  you  could  stand  it.  I  wouldn't  have  dared  to  have 
said  it  about  the  Grand  Union  or  Congress  Hall.  We  don't 
pretend  to  be  so  very  good  here.  But  I  thought  you  Cla- 
rendonites  were  like  Caesar's  wife — above  suspicion. 

"  Good  God  !  "  exclaimed  the  Judge,  throwing  both  hands 
wildly  in  the  air  ;  and  then  he  went  back  to  the  Clarendon  a 
happy  man. 

My  mail  now  came  up.     There  were  eleven  more  letters  from 
the  Clarendon — some  were  sealed  with  aristocratic  coats  of  arms. , 
some  with  illuminated  monograms." 

The  first  one  opened  had  a  baronial  crown  stamped  in  red 
and  blue.     It  read  as  follows  : 
Mon  cher  M.  Perkins,  Esquire,         Hotel  de  Congre  : — 

I  saw  one  paragraphe  en  ze  journal,  ze  COMMOURSHAL,  about 
ze  grande  scandale  of  which  you  have  accuse  me. 

Ze  customs  of  ze  countree  I  will  not  understand,  but  I  am  un 
grattd  officier  in  ze  legion  dlionneur  and  I  shall  not  be  scare  when 
you  have  accuse  ma  chhe,  ze  Madame,  with  one  grand  flir-ta-ti-on 
(what  you  dam  American  call  him.) 

I  shall  be  of  ze  Madame  un  grand  protecteur  avec  ze  pistools. 
You  shall  meet  me  ce  soir  ci  sixheures,  in  zo.  grande  parcke,  when  I 
shall  shoot  you— dam,  what  you  call  him — dead  ! 

M.  Flourins, 
de  la  legation  fran^aise  a  Washington. 
Hotel  de  Clarendon,  20  Auguste. 


/ 


^'^  ii;  ^ "''i^ 


—  •  — 


My  next  letter  was  written  in  the  trembling  hand  of  a  lady. 
She  said  : — 

Mr.  Perkins,  Congress  Hall. 
My  Dear  Sir  : — 

I  write  this  as  a  friend  of  yours.  You  have  been  deceived. 
Some  of  our  people  came  down  to  Congress  Hall,  and  told  these 
scandalous  things  out  of  spite.  Baron  Flourins  has  been  a  little 
exclusive.  We  have  kept  him  entirely  in  our  clique.  The  rest 
are  mad  because  we  have  not  introduced  him.  He  is  a  dear  duck 
of  a  man,  as  harmless  as  he  is  handsome. 

We  take  him  out  to  drive,  and  even  to  our  private  parlors  to 
play  chess,  with  perfect  impunity.  Some  envious  common 
people  mistook  my  parlor  for  my  private  sleeping-room.      The 

mistake  was  ludicrous,  wasn't  it }     Mrs.  Q sends  regards, 

and  hopes  you  will  be  at  our  ball  to-night.  I  have  a  sweet, 
pretty  young  lady  to  present  to  you.  The  villagers  will  not  be 
allowed  to  come  in.     Don't  fail  to  come. 

Yours  in  friendship, 

Catharine  C.  V n. 

So  the  letters  went  on.  I'm  sorry  I  put  in  the  paragraph.  It 
has  caused  me  a  great  deal  of  annoyance.  I  have  spent  most  of 
the  day  reading  letters  and  listening  to  explanations.  If  I 
shouM  put  in  such  a  paragraph  about  Congress  Hall,  I  know  I 
should  never  be  able  to  read  the  correspondence  which  would 
result  from  it ;  and  if  I  should  do  the  same  to  the  Grand  Union, 
letters  would  be  brought  to  my  room  in  wagon  loads.  I  have 
not  said  anything  ;  I  don't  know  anything  ;  only  I  do  give  you 
the  letters  as  received. 
"  Houi  soit  qui  ntaly  pensc  r 

>s.,    "NT' 


'  162  ' 


N  I  / 

_—  —  •^- 

SARATOGA  INDIAN  STORY. 

LENA    AND   ORONTA   DISAPPEAR   IN    CONGRESS    SPRING. 

Congress  Hall,  Saratoga,  Aug.  22 

CHAPTER  I, 

"  Hast  thou  suffered  ?  " 

-  No." 

"  Then  this  letter  is  not  for  thee." 

CHAPTER    II, 

Cest  nn  progravivie  de  la  Renaissance. 

Yesterday  was  a  dreary  day.  Mr.  Wheatley  postponed  the 
races  that  the  rain  might  go  on  undisturbed.  Saratoga  gathered 
her  10,000  guests  within  doors.  The  meriy  laugh  went  on  in  the 
hotel  parlors  despite  the  howling  tempest  without.  Those  who 
patronized  the  shooting  galleries  and  rode  on  the  revolving 
wooden  horses  in  front  of  the  Clarendon  were  careful  to  carry 
umbrellas.  Giddy  misses  and  thoughtless  young  gentlem.en,  who 
do  not  believe  in  punishment  after  death,  played  euchre  for 
caramels  in  the  great  hotel  halls,  while  the  more  sober  clergymen, 
smoked  their  cigars  in  solemnity,  read  my  religious  sermon  of 
yesterday,  and  talked  about  the  races.  Senator  Bayard,  Senator 
Robertson,  and  Simeon  Cameron  played  draw-poker,  with 
nothing  to  mar  their  pleasure  but  the  storm  and  the  absence  of 
General  Nye  and  General  Schenck.  Bernstein  played  dance 
music  in  the  parlors,  remorseless  young  women  amused  us  by 
dancing  the  round  dances,  while  the  old  ladies  "  killed  time  "  on 
embroidery,  or  talked  about  the  years  gone  by  when  they  were 
the  belles  of  Saratoga.  Some  of  them  showed  photographs  of 
themselves  in  point  lace  capes,  twelve  button  gloves  and  diamond 
necklaces,  and  then  lectured  the  young  ladies  on  the  extrava- 
gance of  the  times. 

Mrs.  General  Greene,  who  was  married  forty  years  ago  in  a 
\ / 

'  163 


Xl/ 


$2,000  point  lace  veil,  absolutely  burst  into  tears  as  she  narrated 
about  the  economy  of  Sallie  Ward  and  Madame  Le  Vert. 

Time  moves  on. 

This  is  a  common  thing  with  Time.     Twelve  o'clock  came. 

CHAPTER  in. 

rHE    LONE    INDIAN. 

But  Captain  Hrown  was  wide  awake. 
He  loaded  up  his  gun. 

And  then  pursued  the  loving  pair — and  overtook  them  about 
half-way  to  the  parson's,  when  Reuben  and  Phoebe 
Started  upon  a  run. 
'  I  said  the  clock  struck  twelve.  Hastily  quitting  the  abode  of 
mirth,  I  buttoned  up  my  coat,  took  the  veil  off  of  my  hat,  and 
started  past  Congress  Spring  toward  the  Indian  encampment — 
the  haunts  of  the  wild  savages  in  the  hill.  A  fearful  storm 
brooded  over  the  forest,  and  the  wind  howled  among  the  trees. 
I  read  that  sentence  in  a  book.  A  lone  Indian  woman  met  me 
at  the  door  of  her  tent.  She  welcomed  me  with  a  cold,  haughty 
look,  and  then  she  asked  me  if  I  would  buy  a  basket.  I  handed 
her  five  cents.  Her  manner  softened,  and  she  burst  into  tears — 
then,  turning  her  clear  eye  upon  mine,  she  asked  me  if  I  would 
tell  her  the  story  of  my  life,     I  said  I  would. 

My  mother  was  a  Livingstone — a  cold, 
proud  woman,  entirely  devoted  to  the 
world  and  its  fashions.  She  was  poor. 
My  father  was  a  Perkins,  a  haughty, 
overbearing  man.      He    was    poor  also. 

Thirt3^-six  summers  ago  they  met^-at 
Saratoga — at  the  Union  Hotel.  Wm. 
Leland  introduced  them.  He  told  Miss 
Livingstone  that  Mr.  Perkins  was  worth 
untold  millions.  Then  he  told  Mr.  Per- 
kins that  Miss  Livingstone  owned  twelve 
blocks  on   Bleeker  street.     This  was  a  li bel.     My  father's 

164 


\ 


\[/_ _^J6 

cold  heart  melted.  Wm.  Leland  has  introduced  eight  hundred 
unhappy  people  in  the  same  manner  since.  The  Lelands  do  not 
believe  in  punishment  after  death.  I  was  the  only  fruit  of  their 
ill-assorted  union.  I  inherited  my  father's  and  mother's  estates. 
I  am  as  proud  as  they,  and  I  boast  of  my  poverty. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  story,  child  of  the  forest  .■'"  I  asked. 

The  warm-hearted  Indian  remained  a  moment  sitting — then 
she  started  up  and  asked  for  ten  cents  more.  As  .soon  as  she 
saw  the  money  a  tear  dropped  from  her  eye,  and  she  commenced 
telling  me  the  story  of  her  tribe  and  Congress  Spring  It  was 
thus  ; 

CHAPTER  IV. 

LOVE    AND    SUICIDB. 

Two  lives  so  nearly  joined  in  one. 
So  rudely  rent  in  twain. 

"  In  years  gene  by,  when  the  forest  waved  over  the  crystal  foun- 
tain which  now  unveils  itself  to  the  inquisitive  white  man  in  the 
sparkling  liquid  of  Congress  Spring,  my  ancestors  dwelt  around 
this  hallowed  spot.  Then  none  save  the  Indian  worshipper  ven- 
tured to  gaze  upon  that  fountain  where  their  simple,  yet  beauti- 
fully imaginative  faith  taught  them  to  feel  the  presence  of  the 
Great  Being  whose  sighs  were  the  storm  and  whose  tears  were 
the  drippings  of  the  fountain.  Our  tribe  worshipped  the  Great 
Spirit,  revered  and  protected  the  briny  fountain  of  his  remorse, 
and  drank  the  tearful  waters  in  token  of  our  awe. 

"  Then,  in  days  gone  by,  it  was  customary  to  offer  a  living 
sacrifice  once  a  year  to  this  boiling  fountain,  which  the  pale  face 
calls  Congress  Spring,  and  which  trickles  from  the  eyes  of  the 
Great  Spirit. 

"  In  the  bright  autumn  month  of  August,  when  all  earth's 
flowers  were  at  their  richest,  and  th'e  fruits  had  attained  their 
mellowest  tints,  ere  time  could  bring  his  sickle  round  them,  our 
watchful  Sachem  gave  the  word,  and  our  fairest  maiden,  who  had 
just  arrived  at  womanhood,  was  bedecked  with  fruits  and  flowers 

-,, >;^ 


s./ >!<! 

and  conveyed  as  an  offering  to  the  Great  Spirit  of  the  fountain — 
there  to  sink,  in  the  presence  of  the  assembled  tribes,  forever 
beneath  the  surface  of  the  spring  ! 

CHAPTER    V. 

"  Lena  was  the  only  child  and  the  darling  of  Oronta,  the  proud- 
est chief  of  our  warlike  tribe,  the  Saratogas,  Full  many  a  bloody 
fight  had  seen  his  single  feather  pass  in  triumph,  like  the  pesti- 
lential blast,  scathing  when  he  came,  and  leaving,  when  he  left, 
the  red  track  of  his  hatchet  and  tomahawk. 

"  Perhaps  Oronta  was  the  Sachem  who  founded  Tammany 
Hall,"  I  remarked,  with  my  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"  Alas  !"  she  sighed,  "  it  is  too  true — but  you  anticipate." 

"  Spring  followed  Spring,  Summer  breathed  on  Autumn,  and 
Autumn  prepared  her  glories  for  withering  Winter's  '  cold  em- 
brace.' " 

"  Withering  Winter  }  Ah,  I've  seen  him  at  Congress  Hall 
frequently,"  I  remarked,  "and  he's  still  on  the  embrace." 

"  Sh !  pale-face,  and  listen  ! 

"  Each  annual  round  had  sent  an  offering  to  the  water  spirit 
of  the  weeping  fountain." 

CHAPTEK    VI. 

"  Oronta  danced  in  pride  and  triumph  at  many  a  holy  feast 
which  followed  the  sacrificial  gift  that  our  rejoicing  tribe  had  in 
their  turn  given.  But  Oronta  felt  not  for  the  fathers  whose  pre- 
cious jewels  were  thus  taken  from  their  wigwams  and  committed 
to  the  grave  of  the  boiling  fountain.  Oronta  thought  not  that 
they  had  earthly  feelings  which  the  ardor  of  religion  could  not 
always  quite  subdue.  Oronta  had  lost  his  fair  wife  Calma  ;  but 
it  was  by  a  foeman's  arrow,  and  terribly  had  he  avenged  his 
bereavement. 

"  Since  that  event  his  motherless  child  had  felt  the  glow  of 
fifteen  summers — 'till  like  a  rose  she  opened  all  her  beauties  to 
the  maturing  breath  of  Nature. 


/i^ 


1 66 


'1^ 


—  •  — 


"  The  day  of  sacrifice  came.  It  bclonj^ed  to  the  Saratogas,  and 
Lena  is  the  only  offering  fitting  the  occasion  I 

"  Can  the  proud  Oronta  show  his  weakness  ?  Can  he  let  the 
father's  bursting  bosom  be  seen  to  tremble  ?  Can  he  give  ear  to 
Nature  lest  she  blend  his  love  and  pity  in  a  tear,  that  may  fall 
down  a  blot  upon  his  name  ? 

CHAl'TER    VII. 

**  The  moon-lit  hour  is  come.  The  Oneidas  and  Senecas  have 
joined  the  Saratogas,  and  the  rejoicing  war  dance  goes  on, 
Oronta  has  parted  from  his  Lena  to  meet  where  the  Great  Spirit 

reigns.     His  wigwam  in  the  pine  grove  is  lonely  now. 

♦  ****♦*# 

"  The  yell  of  frantic  triumph  goes  up  from  a  thousand  Sarato- 
gas. The  beautiful  Lena  stands  above  the  spring,  her  robes 
festooned  with  flowers  and  playing  in  the  breeze.  She  looks 
smilingly  upon  her  watery  grave,  while  the  mad  Sachems  shout 
to  heaven  their  joyous  benedictions. 

"  Lena  casts  one  wandering  look  upon  her  brave  companions, 
and  then — behold  another  form,  arrayed  in  white,  streaks  through 
the  misty  twilight  and  both  look  down  upon  the  boiling  spring. 
It  is  Oronta.  He  brings  his  full  grown  glories  of  battle  and  of 
chase  a  willing  offering  for  a  reunion  with  his  wife  and  child. 

"The  Oneidas  send  up  a  terrible  shout,  and  rush,  like  a  whirl- 
■vvind,  to  rescue  their  proud  foe,  Oronta.  Alas !  the  Great  Spirit 
has  called  too  soon,  for  Lena  and  Oronta  clasp  in  a  last  embrace. 
One  look — one  mutual  look  of  love,  of  hope,  of  happiness,  is 
exchanged — when  they  both  disappear  beneath  the  surface  of 
the  waters. 

"  The  forest  rings  again  with  the  yell  of  the  Saratogas,  as  father 
and  child  disappear  in  their  watery  grave — the  tear-fountain  of 
the  Great  Spirit." 

"  Child  of  the  forest,"  murmured  my  venerable  statician,  over- 
come with  emotion,  "  thy  story  accounts  for  the  many  Indian 
^._ / 


—  •  — 

/ 


—  •  — - 

\ 


skeletons  which  the  pale  faces,  through  the  aid  of  subtile  science, 
have  thrown  to  the  surface  of  the  spring,  and  also  for  the  Indian 
taste  to  the  water." 
She  made  no  reply. 


X 


/l^ 


1 68 


^r 


\l/ N  /: 


/ 


v 


THE  DEFEAT  OF  LOiSGFELLOW. 
php:  breakixc,  ov  old  joiix  harper's  heart. 

Saratoga,  Aug.  2^. 

What  a  crowd  !  The  great  race — tlie  grand  central  tableau  of 
the  August  meeting,  came  off  to-day.  Helmbold  against  Long- 
fellow, four  miles,  for  a  purse  of  $1,200.  and  the  championship. 
Helmbold  is  five  years  old,  chestnut— (Au.stralian  daui 
Lavender). 

A     KUNEKAl,    AM)    A    WEDDlNCi 

I  sat  with  John  Harper  at  the  left  of  the  grand  stand,  and 
watched  every  motion  of  the  old  man's  face.  Longfellow  had 
run  around  the  track  twice  immediately  preceding  the  race,  a 
proceeding  unaccountable  to  many  here  to-day. 

"  Why  did  you  do  it  ? "  1  asked  Mr.  Harper. 

"  Because  1  thought  old  Long  was  a  little  tight,  and  J  wanted 
to  see  if  he  would  sweat  well" 

As  the  horses  started.  I  asked  John  Harper  how  Longfellow 
was  prepared  for  the  race. 

"  Very  well,"  he  replied.  "  only  a  leetle  too  high." 

I  now  give  you  a  faithful  photograph  of  the  scene  : 

The  horses  are  now  on  the  second  mile,  I  sit  by  John  Harper. 
"  How  is  he  going.-*"  I  ask  old  John,  who  sits  with  his  cold  gray 
e)'es  sternly  fixed  on  the  race. 

"  He  is  doing  very  well — only  the  boy  is  riding  him  a  leetle  too 
fast-^faster  than  I  ordered  him — but  he's  a  good  boy,  and  I 
reckon  he  knows  what  he  is  about. 

The  horses  now  passed  the  grand  stand  the  second  time 

"  How  is  he  going  now  .'"  I  asked. 

'■  The  boy  is  making  him  go  a  little  furder  out  than  I  ordered 
him,  but  I  reckon   Lonjjfellow  has  wt-  tli£  race"     The  old  man 


/|V 


169 


^1^ 


y\\ 


looks  on  coolly,  but  with  a  dreadful  interest  which  seems  to  take 
away  his  breath. 

Tiie  horses  now  enter  upon  the  third  mile.  Longfellow  begins 
to  throw  out  his  tail. 

"  I  guess  the  boy  is  too  weak  for  him,"  says  old  John,  quietly^ 
his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  race  in  dreadful  silence. 

The  horses  now  pass  the  grand  stand  a  third  time  almost  neck 
and  neck. 

John  Harper  looked  happy  and  secure. 

"You  are  very  quiet  for  one  who  has  $40,000  depending  on 
the  race,"  I  remark. 

The  old  man  makes  no  reply.     He  never  spoke  after  this. 

Longfellow  seemed  to  let  down  his  head  as  if  exhausted, 
caught  the  bit,  and  it  was  all  up  in  a  moment. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Uncle  John  .'" 

Not  a  word  in  reply  ;  but  the  old  man's  eyes  seemed  to  be 
wandering,  and  his  mind  had  gone  away  from  the  grand  stand — 
to  his  horse. 

Helmbold  now  made  a  sudden  spurt,  took  the  lead,  and  held 
it  like  grim  death.  John  Harper  looked  like  one  at  the  death- 
bed of  a  friend — hope,  sickly  hope,  beamed  in  his  countenance, 
and  that  was  all.  Not  a  word  escaped  his  lips.  He  saw  his  love 
his  pride,  his  idol,  break  down  before  his  eyes,  while  ten  thou- 
sand demoniac  voices  shouted  and  made  bedlam  of  the  grand 
stand. 

"  Longfellow  has  been  drugged,"  growled  Col.  Bridgeland  to 
old  John.  John  Harper  made  no  reply.  His  heart  seemed 
broken,  and  "  he's  gone"  were  the  only  words  he  uttered  after 
the  third  mile. 

As  he  muttered  these  words  I  felt  a  feeling — a  pyschologic  feel- 
ing of  pity  for  the  good  old  man.  Demoniac  shouts  went  up 
from  ten  thousand  hoarse  throats,  but  old  John  heard  them  not. 

He  saw  nothing  but  his  panting  horse,  heard  nothing  but  his 
hard  breathing.  I  got  up  and  walked  down  to  the  track  with 
him.     He  walked  up  by  Longfellow,  his  defeated  pride,  his  dead 


^1/ >!<! 

hope,  but  was  silent  as  the  grave.  The  grand  old  horse  stood 
trembling,  with  his  head  down,  exhausted.  The  last  mile  was 
too  much  for  him.  Enquirer  Joe  ran  into  the  weigh  house,  doffed 
his  suit,  and  went  mournfully  back  to  the  stable  with  his  horse 
and  his  gray-haired  owner. 

To  me  the  race  was  like  a  funeral  and  a  wedding.  While  the 
old  man's  heart  was  breaking,  ten  thousand  people  were  wild 
with  joy.  I  could  not  rejoice.  I  only  saw,  and  hoped,  and  suf- 
fered with  the  white-haired  old  man  by  my  side. 

AFTER    THE   RACE. 

After  tiie  races  I  went  round  to  the  stable.  Longfellow  was 
lame — his  legs  were  swollen. 

"  How  is  he,  Uncle  John  ?"  I  asked. 

"  The  tendons  in  his  fore  legs  are  shattered  and  broken.  He's 
ruined  ;  will  never  run  again,"  he  replied.  "  Poor  Long !  he 
tried  to  win  it  !"  sobbed  the  old  man.  He  murmured  to  himself: 

To-night  an  old  man  wended  his  way  to  the  depot.  He  wore 
a  heavy  frock  coat  of  linsey-woolsey,  and  a  pair  of  ill-fitting  pan- 
taloons with  ragged  bottoms.  He  carried  a  heavy  walking-stick, 
and  bore  on  it  heavily  as  he  tottered  along.  He  was  followed 
by  a  little  negro  boy  carrying  a  huge  valise.  On  arriving  at  the 
depot  he  purchased  a  ticket  for  Cincinnati.  This  man  was  old 
John  Harper.  When  the  train  came  along  he  got  into  a  car. 
Turning  to  the  little  negro  he  said  : 

"  Tell  Marshall  to  be  careful  with  the  horse,  and  to  look  out 
for  Express  as  well.  I'm  a  little  afraid  of  the  leg,  and,  Tom,  I 
reckon  you'd  better  tell  him  to  give  Longfellow  a  car  by  himself. 
But  never  mind  ;  I  reckon  Frank  '11  'tend  to  that." 

So  old  white-haired  John  Harper  went  back  with  his  idol  to 
his  Kentucky  home,  but  he  will  return  again  in  1902  with  Long- 
fellow, to  contest  for  the  prowess  of  Kentucky. 


xl/ >|/1 


ELI   CRAZY  ON  STATISTICS. 

MUl   ril'J.ICArioN,  ADI'iTloN,  AND    SUBTRACTION. 

CONCiKESS  Hall,  Saratoga.  Aug.  23. 

Statistics  are  my  delight.  There  is  something  very  ludicrous 
in  a  row  of  figures  to  me.  I  am  not  a  commercial  man,  yet  I 
never  see  a  tailor's  bill  or  a  washing  list  without  feeling  funny. 
The  pages  of  a  Patent  Office  Report,  when  they  begin  to  reach 
up  toward  1,486,  make  me  laugh  too  numerous  to  mention. 

One  day  a  man  told  me  there  were  just  exactly  79,472  hairs 
on  a  cat's  back.  1  was  completely  up.set  at  the  man's  statistics. 
I  laughed  for  weeks.  I  suppose  commercial  people  laugh  at  my 
literary  work  too.  I  have  seen  these  votaries  of  commerce  laugh 
at  my  most  serious  statements.  When  I  stated  the  other  day 
that  Saratoga  was  exactly  126  years  old,  but  on  account  of  the 
short  season  here  the  town  had  existed  but  37  years,  commercial 
people  laughed  at  my  exactness. 

You  have  no  idea  how  har  1  it  is  to  get  your  statistics  right  in 
Saratoga.  The  sexton  was  inclined  to  exaggerate  the  number 
of  graves  in  the  cemetery.  When  I  a.sked  him  how  many  people 
he  buried  a  day,  he  asked, 

"  How  many  do  they  bury  in  Ballston  ?" 

He  has  an  exalted  pride  in  surpassing  the  Ballston  cemetery. 
If  more  people  should  die  in  Ballston  than  here,  he  would  be  a 
ruined  man.  Hence  his  desire  to  make  his  gra\e-}-ard  show  to 
the  best  advantage.  When  I  asked  him  precisely  how  many 
young  people -came  from  Congress  Hall  during  the  fashionable 
season  to  sit  on  the  benches,  he  answered  quickly,  536.  I  found 
out  afterward  that  there  were  in  reality  but  492. 

So  with  Wm.  Leland.  Yesterday  I  asked  him  how  many 
guests  he  had.     He  answered  readily,  4,689. 

"  How  can  that  be'"  I  asked,  "  when  you  liavc  only  824  rooms.''- 

~^~  ;j; /In- 


X I  / ; NJ/^ 

"  Well,  most  of  them  stay  at  Congress  Hall  and  the  Clarendon." 

I  have  some  trouble  in  getting  at  the  ages  of  the  young  ladies 
here.     Yesterday  I  remarked  to  a  mother — 

"  Ah,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  your  daughter  here  five 
years  ago.' 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  Mary  was  fourteen  years  old  then." 

I  took  Mary  to  the  ball  that  summer,  and  she  wore  a  court- 
train  dress.  I  thought  she  was  a  young  lady,  but  I  must  have 
been  a  victim  of  misplaced  confidence  if  she  was  only  fourteen, 
I  must  have  had  queer  taste  then.  I  don't  look  at  a  young  lady 
now  under  nineteen. 

There  is  one  young  lady  here  reported  to  be  worth  $14,000,000. 
She  has  sixty-nine  beaux.  Yesterday  one  dropped  off.  He  said 
he'd  been  fooled  by  the  statistics.  The  young  lady's  father  is  a 
well-to-do  grocer,  and  he  showed  me  a  letter  from  New  Orleans 
to  prove  it.  It  is  wrong  thus  to  deceive  unsuspecting  young 
men.  Up  at  the  Clarendon  they  never  talk  about  wealth.  Their 
forte  is  pedigree.  One  lady  said  her  family  had  fought  in  the 
Revolution  for  twenty-one  generations — one  uncle  was  still 
fighting.  These  are  the  kind  of  people  I  like.  They  don't  gloat 
over  the  multiplication  table. 

Commerce  is  vulgar. 

MORE   STATISTICS. 

To-day  I  have  been  in  silent  communion  with  my  old  statician. 
Together  we  have  revelled  in  statistics.  We  got  hold  of  the 
steward  of  Congress  Hall.  He  has  a  good  memory  and  seven- 
teen books  full  of  figures  to  refer  to.  His  name  is  J.  D.  Crawford. 
He  stays  down  in  the  rear  of  Congress  Hall,  where  all  the  provi- 
sions for  the  Hall  are  received.  He  has  two  boys,  who  do 
nothing  but  count,  multiply,  and  divide.  (They  count  on  living 
an  easy  time,  multiply  Crawford's  cares,  and  divide  the  profits.) 
I  want  you  to  understand  that  my  statistics  are  exact.  I  take 
them  from  the  books.  I  "went  for"  Crawford  thus  ("  went  for" 
is  quoted  from  Bret  Harte)  : 


/i\ 


173  '1^ 


\l/ 


\»/ 


"  I  low  many  chickens  do  you  use  per  day,  where  are  they  got- 
ten, who  gets  them,  and  what  do  they  cost  apiece  ?" 

Crawford — "  W'e  use  900  chickens  daily.  We  have  10  chicken 
men  in  Washington  and  Saratoga  counties.  They  travel  all  the 
time.     The  chickens  cost  31  cents  apiece." 

"  Where  do  you  get  your  meats,  why  do  you  get  them  there, 
and  who  gets  them  .'*" 

Crawford — "Our  beef  comes  from  New  York.  We  use  1,000 
pounds  daily.  C.  L.  Williams  is  our  beef  man.  We  only  use 
the  rib  and  loin  of  a  beef.  It  costs  25  cents  per  pound.  Our 
mutton  costs  18  cents,  barring  it's  lamb,  then  it  costs  15  cents. 
It  comes  from  our  butchers  here.  The  reason  we  get  our  beef 
in  New  York  is  because  if  butchers  here  were  to  furnish  it  they 
would  be  overstocked  with  an  excess  of  coarse  meat.  We  only 
use  the  best  cuts.  We  pay  $2  per  hundred  freight  on  beef  from 
New  York." 

"Eggs.?" 

Crawford — "  We  use  800  eggs  per  day.  They  cost  25  cents 
per  dozen.  B.  Brigs  furnishes  them  from  Washington  and 
Saratoga  counties." 

"  Butter  V 

Crawford — "  We  use  300  pounds  daily.  It  costs  25  cents  per 
pound.  It  comes  from  our  farmers.  If  I  run  short  I  raise  the 
price  a  cent  or  two,  and  a  tun  of  butter  will  come  in  in  a  day. 
The  farmers  hear  of  these  little  advances  very  quick." 

"  Peaches,  apples,  melons,  nuts,  fish,  and  soft-shell  crabs  ?" 

Crawford — "  Mr.  Williams,  who  furnishes  the  beef,  sends  these 
from  New  York." 

"  Berries  ?" 

Crawford— ''Mrs.  Morris  furnishes  the  berries  from  North 
Greenfield  Centre.  She  keeps  20  women  picking  all  the  time. 
She  furnishes  200  quarts  of  blackberries  and  red  raspberries  per 
day — price  18  cents  per  quart." 

"  Woodcock  and  game  ?" 

Crawford—''  Our  woodcock  and  game  comes  from  the  fields 

^h -/;(- 


\i/ . >k- 

and  the  north  woods  (Adirondacks),  and  is  brou<^ht  in  by  our 
own  hunters.  Woodcock  cost  $1.20  per  pair,  trout  60  cents,  and 
black  bass  50  cents  per  pound.  We  get  our  Spanish  mackerel 
and  salmon  from  the  sea  and  from  Pennoyer  and  Van  Antwarp's, 
in  Saratoga.  We  have  had  as  many  as  800  woodcock  and  1,500 
chickens  on  ice  at  one  time. 

"  Our  game  makes  a  good  deal  of  trouble.  It  is  from  this  the 
waiters  make  their  perquisites.  If  we  put  woodcock  on  the  bills, 
125  waiters  are  sure  to  want  them  whether  the  guests  ordered 
them  or  not.  Just  imagine  125  crazy  waiters  shouting,  fighting, 
and  scuffling  for  woodcock. 

"  The  cook-room  becomes  a  pandemonium,  and  it  frequently 
resolves  itself  into  a  question  of  physical  strength  as  to  who  shall 
have  the  best  dishes.  The  waiters  only  stay  two  months,  so  they 
don't  care  much  about  discipline.  Each  one  fights  for  his  '  own 
table.'  " 

*'  Then,  if  you  were  a  guest,  you  would  pick  a  table  with  the 
strongest  \yaiter  ?"' 

"  Just  so.  A  big  fellow  is  sure  to  knock  all  the  little  fellows 
out  of  joint,  and  secure  two  plates  of  woodcock.  But  don't  tell 
the  hotel  people  this — they'd  all  want  the  'oig  waiters." 

Congress  Hall  cost  $7510,000. 

Length  of  exterior  frontage,  1,200  feet. 

Number  of  rooms,  600. 

Number  of  doors,  900. 

Number  of  windows,  1,200. 

Accommodations  for  1,200  guests. 

Carpeting,  7  acres. 

Length  of  halls,  i^  miles. 

Ball  room  cost  $6,500. 

Proprietors,  H.  II.  Hathorn,  R.  H.  Southgate,  and  C.  F. 
Southgate. 

Room  clerk,  Frank  H.  Hathorn  ;  Cashier,  E.  H.  Rodgers  ; 
Counter  clerks,  F.  H.  Hathorn.  Union  Springs,  N.  Y.,  and  D.  B. 
Young,  Saratoga.  -  ^ 


0^ 


TIIK  (.)Tlll.k  IIOli:!.  ^lATIsllLS. 
GraN'D  Union  ;  cost  $800,000  ;  live  stories  higli  ;  824  rooms  ; 
1,474  doors  ;  1,890  windows  ;  dccomniodates  1.700  guests  ;  carpet- 
inn-,  9  acres  .  length  ofhalKs,  1  -^.j;  miles  ;  length  of  exterior  frontage 
1.280  feet.  Owned  b\-  A  T.  Stewart,  and  kept  by  the  well 
known  Jos.  H.  Breslen  and  I'etcr  Gardner— Wm.  Leland  and 
Warren  Leland  having  gone  to  keep  a  fashionable  hotel  in 
Alaska. 

The  CLARENDON'  is  a  large  frame  structure.  iSlo  house  in 
Saratoga  excells  it  in  good  repute.  It  accommodates  450  people. 
Worth  $250,000.     Kept  by  Chas.  E.  Leland. 

The  American  is  the  old  city  hotel — 50  years  old.  Accom- 
modates 300  guests.  Charmingly  situated  on  Broadway.  Value 
$150,000,  kept  by  W.  H.  McCaffrey. 

The  Columbian,  kept  by  Jerome  Leland.  Value  $iOO,000. 
Accommodates  150  guests  (burnt  Sept.  14th,  1871). 

The  other  hotels  are  the  Marvin  House,  by  A.  and  D. 
Snyder  (150  guests)  ;  CONTINENTAL,  Harry  De  Mars  (150 
guests) ;  Crescent,  by  Dr.  Hamilton  (100  guests)  ;  Pitney's  (40 
guests)  ;  Dr.  Strong's.  Now  rising  like  a  Phoenix,  comes  Jos, 
H.  Breslin's  new  Hotel,  extending  from  Dr.  Hamilton's,  away 
over  towards  the  Clarendon,  and  capable  of  accommodating 
600  guests  Temple  Grove  House,  Mr.  Dowd  (150  guests) ; 
Mont  Eagle  Park  Place  (burnt  Sept.  14)  ;  Mansion  House, 
Commercial,  \Vashin(;ton  Hall,  Broadway  House, 
White's  and  the  Pavillion. 

"  How  js  that  for  statistics  .'"   I  asked  of  my  old  statician. 

He  made  no  reply  but  bent  his  head  low  and  cried  for  joy  ! 
"  O  !  "  he  murmured,  "  such  a  day  with  figures  and  the  multipli- 
cation table,  is  worth  a  life  time  of  flirting  and  round  dancing  .'' " 

His  mind  was  so  exercised,  that  as  I  left  him  he  went  on 
repeating  to  himself.  "6  times  i  are  6  ;  6  times  2  are  I2  ;  6 
times  3  are  i8 " 

^^'•^  ^6  ^'^ 


\ 


THi:  BATTLK  OF  SARATOGA, 

Saratoga,  Aug.  25. 

To-day,  in  company 
with  a  party  of  marriage- 
able Clarendon  ladies,  I 
visited  the  old  battle 
ground  of  Saratoga.  Some 
went  in  a  sportive  way, 
and  others,  alas !  went  to 
see  the  last  resting  place  of 
patriot  sires. 

"""  ^~^'^^  Almost  every  lady  had 

an  ancestor  or  two  killed  in  this  memorable  battle.  One  lost  a 
grandfather,  but  she  found  him  afterward — hid  away  in  the  cellar  ; 
others  lost  grandmothers  and  aunts,  and  one  venerable  old  lady 
said  she  lost  a  beautiful  daughter  ;  she  eloped  with  a  British 
officer.  I  asked  her  when  the  battle  occurred.  She  said,  alas  ! 
her  memory  tottered,  but  she  thought  it  was  previous  to 
McDow^ell's  capture  of  Washington  after  the  first  Bull  Run. 

We  spent  some  time  between  Moon's  and  Meyers'  looking  for 
the  battle  field,  but  we  could  not  find  it.  It  seems  the  place  has 
been  moved  over  toward  Stillwater  and  Mechanicsville.  I  don't 
see  how  Burgoyne  ever  found  the  place  at  all.  They  must  have 
hunted  for  that  memorable  battle  ground  for  months.  After 
searching  for  a  long  time  we  found  a  venerable  guide.  He  said 
he  knew  just  where  to  look  for  it.  He  assisted  Burgoyne  in 
finding  the  place.  He  was  full  of  statistics  and  knew  all  about 
the  battle.  He  stood  close  by  General  McClellan  when  he  and 
General  Gates  made  that  heavy  charge  with  the  colored  troops. 
"  Alas  1 "  he  sighed,  "  the  colored  troops  are  still  charging  dow^n 
at  Congress  Hall.     It  runs  in  their  blood." 


F 


177 


'1^ 


—  •  ^ 

/ 

THE  BATTLE. 

General  Buigoyne  was  a  British  officer.     He  was  a  foreigner 

a  "  blarsted  "  Englishman.    He  was  sent  over  here  to  subjugate 

America  and  to  find  this  battle  field.  No  one  knew  of  the 
place  but  Burgonye.  He  had  spent  the  summer  of  1755 
with  Charles  Leland  at  the  Clarendon.  All  the  time  he  was 
not  drinking  Congress  water  he  spent  looking  for  this  place- 
At  last  he  found  it,  and  went  back  and  told  Oliver  Goldsmith. 
Oliver  told  Lord  Palmerston,  and  he  told  George  HI.  Mr. 
Seward  was  our  St.  James  Minister  then.  He  found  out  the 
secret,  telegraphed  it  to  Mr.  Fish,  and  it  was  stolen  from  the 
State  Department  that  same  night,  by  some  remorseless  corres- 
pondent. 

General  Burgoyne  sailed  down  from  Plattsburg  on  the 
Champlain  Canal.  He  brought  8,000  men.  They  were  picked 
men — picked  off  by  Federal  sharpshooters.  General  Gates  and 
General  McClellan  came  up  by  way  of  the  Hudson  River  steam- 
boats— People's  line.  Burgoyne  put  up  at  Meyers'  Cedar  Bluff 
Hotel,  and  Gates  and  McClellan  occupied  rooms  at  Moon's. 
Moon  was  then  a  mere  lad.  He  cherished  the  Republic, 
supported  the  Continental  Congress,  and  went  on  selling  his 
fried  potatoes.  Just  before  the  battle,  and  while  Burgoyne's 
cannon  were  booming  in  the  distance,  Mrs.  Moon  consecrated 
herself  to  her  great  patriotic  work — frying  potatoes.  Generals 
Gates  and  McClellan  were  burning  with  patriotic  ardor — Mrs. 
Moon  with  her  patriotic  larder.  The  booming  cannon  inspired 
them  to  deeds  of  lofty  heroism. 

The  battle  was  about  to  commence.  Burgoyne  moved  up  with 
the  Turcos  and  Landwehr  from  Stillwater.  The  Uhlans  were  in 
front.  Then  came  a  delay.  He  had  lost  the  battle  field — taken 
the  wrong  road.  General  Beauregard  and  General  Sheridan  now 
galloped  up.  They  were  accompanied  by  Mr.  Bergh  and  Josh 
Billings. 


"  Hast  thou  found  the  memorable  spot  on  which  thfs  san- 
guinary action  is  to  occur  ?"  asked  Burgoyne  in  a  tone  of  agita- 
tion. 

F.  Sheridan  said  he  had.  M.  Beauregard  also  nodded  assent. 
Sheridan  said  they  searched  for  a  long  time,  but  their  researches 
were  finally  rewarded.     They  found  the  place — they^knew  it  was 


—  «  — 


the  place  by  the  monument.     The  monument  sa 


on  it  thus 


1775. 

Sacred  to  the  Memory 

of 

HOKACE  BLTxGUYXE,  F.  SHERIDAN, 

And  Others  who  Surrendered 

to 

U.  S.  GATES,  GENERAL  McCLELLAN, 

MRS.  MOON  AND  MRS.  MEYERS, 

NEAR 

Saratoga,  where  the  Clarendon,  Union, 
and  Congress  Hall  Hotels  are  always 
happy  to  accommodate  guests  at  $5  per 
day.  Liberal  discount  made  on  weeklv 
bills. 

J.  MORRISSEY, 
Secretary. 


The  eagle  eye  of  General  Burgoyne  caught  the  superscription, 
and  he  said,  "  Let  the  gods  rejoice — it  is  found." 
McClellan's  men  now  moved  up  from  Moon's. 

TJIK   COLORED    TROOPS, 
as  usual,  were  in  front,  then  came  the  Franc-Tireurs,  lastly,  tlie 
patriots. 

My  uncle,  Consider  Perkins,  occupied  posts  of  danger — hitch- 
ing posts — with  the  patriots.  They  boldly  sang,  "  Rally  Round 
the  Flag,  Boys,"  and  then  returned  to  Moon's  several  times  to 
rally  around  it.  My  uncle  said  he  loved  to  "  shout  the  battle  cry 
of  freedom,"  but  he  was  of  actual  service  in  the  battle  only  as 
far  as  the  moral  influence  of  his  name  went.  He  alwa}'s  defended 
the  flanks  of  the  army. 

THE   GUN-BOATS 
now  anchored  opposite  Bemus  Heights  on  the  Stillwater,  right  in 


179 


/r 


^!/__ ^! 

the  rear  of  Cornwallis"  subsistence  dcpaitnient.  Mrs.  Meyers  j 
had  supplied  the  British  troops  with  black  bass  and  stewed  j 
potatoes.  She  said  her  patriotism  must  find  vent  some  way, 
Wlien  they  wanted  to  pay  her  money,  she  said,  "  No,  give  it  to 
the  poor,  send  it  to  President  Grant."  She  was  a  Perkins,  and 
the  Perkins  blood  always  tells.  In  after-years  the  patriotic 
Meyers  got  a  claim  through  Congress  for  $13,000  "damages 
done  to  garden  and  liquors  drank  at  bar  by  British  officers." 
General  Nye  got  it  through.  Nye  afterward  made  a  speech  in 
favor  of  '"  bridging  the  Potomac  "  with  the  carcasses  of  dead 
Secessionists."  But  the  wiser  counsels  of  General  McClellan 
prevailed.     Lincoln  told  him  it  would  be  wrong. 

THE   BATTLE   RAGES. 

The  Patriots  from  Saratoga  County  fight  behind  the  colored 
troops.  They  occupy  dangerous  places  behind  empty  barrels, 
and  eat  paper  after  paper  of  fried  potatoes,  while  the  battle  rages 
wildly  about  them. 

The  balls  go  by  them  thick  and  fast — in  wagons.  The  colored 
troops  from  Congress  Hall  made  charge  after  charge.  Amid  the 
groans  of  the  wounded  and  the  shrieks  of  the  dying,  they  gather 
behind  the  monument — a  forlorn  hope.  Where  is  Fitz  John 
Porter.'  His  command  left  Saratoga  at  daylight.  They  marched 
around  by  Ballston  Spa  and  Schenectady.  Alas,  too  late ! 
General  Butler  now  moves  up  Avith  a  fresh  regiment  of  colored 
troops.  Butler  steals  a  march  on  Burgoyne  and  joins  the  gun- 
boats in  the  rear  of  his  commissary  department.  His  men  con- 
sume everything  in  their  reach.  The  entire  British  army  is  left 
without  rations.  The  Uhlans  surrender— the  Saratogians  cease 
to  carry  water  to  the  British,  and  Burgoyne  sends  General 
Trochu  forward  with  a  white  flag.  General  Burgoyne  receives 
General  Gates  with  a  li;iughl\-  air.  "  Lift  up  your  head,  O  ye 
Gates,"  he  says,  in  a  commanding  voice.  Gates  accepts  the 
situation  meekly,  and  Burgoyne  permits  him  to  return  to  Con- 
gre.ss  Hall.     Fitz  John   Porter  now  hove  in  sight.     He  fired  a 


few  shots  into  the  Patriots  in  the  rear  of  Moon's,  and  then  came 
forward  and  fell  into  McClellan's  arms.  It  was  an  affecting 
sight.  Mrs.  Moon  and  Mrs.  Meyers  and  Wm.  Leland  agreed  to 
the  terms  of  surrender.  The  British  officers  were  imprisoned  at 
the  Clarendon.  Many  of  them  married  fortunes.  Burgoyne 
himself,  as  I  wrote  before,  occupied  a  position  in  the  New  York 
Custom  House,  and  became  a  staunch  supporter  of  Gen.  Grant. 
Many  patriotic  Saratogians  were  lost  in  the  battle,  but  they  were 
generally  found  in  cellars  and  behind  barrels  the  next  day. 
Young  ladies  who  eloped  with  British  officers  had  large  families 
of  children  and  lived  happy  lives. 


j^f-/'"«m 


.M 


n\ 


f:-^¥>  ,:) 


1 


ISI 


THE  PERKINS'   FAMILY. 

Congress  Hall,  Aug.  26th. 

The  ladies  came  to  me  this  morning,  and  wished  me  to 
entertain  them  with  some  reminiscences  of  the  Perkins'  family, 
their  rch'gious  and  political  belief,  and  their  philosophica, 
traits.     I  divided  my  sermon  into  four  heads  : 

1.  Bio(;raphic.\[.. 

2.  TllKULOGlCAL. 

3.  Political. 

4.  Advisatorv  [pJiilosopJiical). 
1st.  Biographical. — The  Perkinses  are  a  great  family.    Some 

of  them  were  in  almost  every  battle  of  the  Revolution — some  on 
one  side  and  some  on  the  other.  Nathaniel  Perkins  was  in  the 
battle  of  Saratoga.  All  day  he  was  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight 
— carrying  water  to  the  British. 

My  father  lost  his  arms  at  the  battle  of  Saratoga — he  threw 
them  away  so  he  could  run  faster.  He  led  his  men  so  well  that 
he  was  sent  for  by  Wm.  Leland  to  lead  the  Union  Hall  Germans. 
My  uncle,  Abraham  Perkins,  first  served  with  General  McClellan, 
but  getting  a  chance  of  promotion,  he  became  a  quarter-master 
on  Beauregard's  staff.  He  was  lost  at  Gettysburg,  but  afterwards 
found  hid  away  behind  a  barrel  eating  hard  boiled  eggs. 

I  only  .speak  of  the  Saratoga  Perkinses  incidentally.  Our 
pride  of  blood,  and  name,  and  revolutionary  aristocracy  cul- 
minate in  Litchfield  County — State  of  Connecticut. 

There  I  was  born. 

I  had  no  father  or  mother.  1  was  born  an  orphan.  It  took 
place  at  my  aunt's — aunt  Sarah  Perkins.  My  father  died  in 
infancy.  His  name  was  Cyrus  Perkins.  I  think  he  had  Cir- 
cassian blood  in  his  veins.  My  uncles'  names  are  Nathaniel, 
Joseph,  Isaac,  Jacob,  Nehemiah,  and  Consider.  My  aunts  are 
Debora,  Ruth  and  Rebecca.     My  grandfather  never  patronized 


si 


the  New  Testament.  When  uncle  Jacob  Perkins  registered  his 
name  the  other  day  at  the  Grand  Union.  Wm.  Leland  a-^kcd  him 
if  he  kept  a  clothing  store. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  my  uncle  Jacob  indignantly. 

**  Because  there  are  so  many  Jacobs  on  Chatham  St." 

My  uncle  Consider  Perkins  was  named  after  Captain  Consider 
Standish,  of  Plymouth.  Plymouth  was  named  after  Mr. 
Beecher's  church. 

The  Perkinses  in  Litchfield  County  are  famous  agriculturists — 
they  raise  prize  cucumbers  and  large  families  of  health}-  children. 
I  was  one  of  a  family  of  eleven — />//t  not  tJie  only  one.  The  chil- 
dren generally  turned  out  well,  and  the  cucumbers  brought  a 
good  price.  My  uncle  Consider  has  frequently  started  for  New 
London  with  a  load  of  small  cucumbers.  It  was  a  long  distance, 
but  the  cucumbers  continued  to  grow  in  the  wagon.  From  these 
few  baskets  of  small  cucumbers  my  uncle  often  sold  three  or  four 
wagon  loads  in  New  London, 

New  London  was  then  larger  than  New  York,  and  a  good  deal 
more  aristocratic.  Peter  Minuet  bought  Manhattan  Island  f^r 
sixteen  pounds  sterling.  He  sold  out  to  one  of  the  Stuyve.sants 
for  £26,  and  went  back  to  England,  built  a  castle,  and  revelled 
in  luxury. 

William  Tweed  and  Peter  Sweeney  have  sold  out  the  city  a 
good  many  times  since,  and  they,  too,  alas !  revel  in  luxurious 
castles  on  Fifth  Avenue. 

In  the  days  of  the  Colonists,  New  London  and  the  Perknis 
family  were  great.  They  distinguished  themselves  in  agriculture 
and  other  scientific  branches,  and  whitened  the  ocean  with  the 
sails  of  glorious  commerce — they  sold  mackerel.  The  Pequot 
house  was  then  a  lone  fisherman's  hut.  Mr.  Pequot  married  a 
Perkins,  and  my  grandfather  gave  him  the  house  as  a  wedding 
present,  Pequot  thrived  well.  He  raised  a  good  many  Pequots, 
who  in  turn  begot  other  Pequots.  They  finally  got  so  strong 
that  they  went  over  to  Salem  on  a  crusade  against  the  Puritans. 


'iv  -^^  /;^ 


—  •  — 

/ 


They  captured  936  Puritans,  4.32  Baptists,  and  91  Christians. 
People  talked  a  good  deal  about  religious  liberty  in  those  days, 
but  alas  !  it  was  the  same  as  now.  New  Yorkers  talk  a  good 
deal  about  liberty,  but  they  have  got  to  go  over  to  New  Jersey 
for  their  Sunday  lager  and  Orange  parades. 

2nd,  Theological. — My  uncle  Consider  is  a  great  Baptist. 
He  said  he  would  kill  every  darned  Presbyterian  in  the  country 
if  he  had  his  way.     He  was  devoted  to  religion  ! 

My  father  was  a  member  of  the  Episcopal  Church.  He  said 
he  did  not  believe  much  in  religion,  and  that  Church  came  nearest 
to  his  belief  I  inherited  my  father's  religious  faith.  I  am  happy 
in  it.  Our  Church  permits  swearing  in  a  mild  form.  Most  all  of 
the  Fifth  Avenue  sivell  fellows  belong  to  our  Church.  We  never 
let  our  religion  interfere  with  our  dancing  and  euchre  playing. 

Far  different. 

I  used  to  believe  everything  I  read  in  church  books,  but,  alas ! 
I  find  they  won't  do  to  tie  to  always.  When  I  visited  Parma,  I 
saw  a  hand  of  the  Virgin  Mary — I  saw  another  in  Rome — then 
one  in  Cologne,  and  lastly  one  in  Tvcrtza  near  Moscow.  I  never 
could  reconcile  all  these  hands.  As  the  priest  showed  them  to 
me,  he  wept  a  pious  tear,  and  said,  "  They  are  all  ih-:  true  hands 
of  the  Virgin,  and  here  are  the  books  to  prove  it."  I  said,  ''Alas  ! 
people  w^ere  handier  in  those  days  than  they  are  now." 

In  Tartary  they  talked  of  sending  missionaries  to  convert  the 
poor  heathen  in  New  York.  Then  they  showed  me  piles  of 
burnt  bones,  where  their  good  heathen  had  died  for  their  faith, 
like  our  John  Huss,  Cranmer,  and  Latimer  of  Oxford.  I  said, 
"  Alas  !  you  are  all  honest — you  are  all  right.  You  can  all  have 
Confucius,  Mohamed,  the  Pope,  Swedenburgh,  and  Brigham 
Young,  but  they  can't  all  be  right.  I  don't  want  to  run  any 
risks." 

3rd.  Political. — The  Perkinses  are  staunch  Democrats, 
though  I  favor  the  PRESENT  Administration.  I  had  one  cousin, 
Nicodemus  Perkins,  who  was  so  Democratic  that  he  enlisted  in 
the    Confederate   army,    under   General    Lee.      One   day   the 


/•^ 


\[/ : 

Adjutant,  ulio  was  subject  to  bad  spells,  issued  an  order  detaiiin*; 
"  Niggerdemus  "  Perkins  for  picket  duty.  My  cousin  was  cap- 
tured that  night  by  one  Union  scout.  He  now  loves  the  old 
flag.     He  frequently  sings  : 

"  Kweet  flag,  I  love  thee  still," 

and  then  he  goes  down  on  the  Connecticut  river  bottom  in 
search  of  it,  and  digs  for  hours.  Many  of  the  Connecticut 
Perkinses  are  still  voting  the  Presidency  ticket. 

"Why  do  you  do  .so,  Uncle  Consider.'"  I  asked. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  marry  a  nigger  ?  "  he  exclaimed  in  pious 
indignation. 

Alas !  it  is  chronic  with  him  ! 

Many  of  my  relations  are  pursuing  the  evil  tenor  of  their  waj's 
in  Saratoga.  Some  dance,  some  go  to  church,  and  some  alas  ! 
like  the  dissolute  Saratogians,  spend  their  time  drinking  Con- 
gress water. 

Yesterday  my  uncle  Jacob  had  a  fight  with  the  spring  bo}'. 
because  he  wanted  to  wa.ste  a  glass  of  water,  simply  because  it 
had  a  small  snake  in  it.  After  my  snake  story,  he  continued  to 
drink  the  water  with  even  greater  relish.  He  said  the  time  to 
.stop  drinking  the  water  was  when  the  snakes  were  in — not  after 
they  had  come  out.  They  are  great  philosophers — the  Perkins 
are.  They  all  marr\^  the  first  time  )'oung.  After  that  the\'  arc 
not  so  particular. 

No  Perkins  ever  dyed  his  hair,  colored  his  mustache,  owned  a 
striped  shirt,  or  wore  a  paper  collar.  No  Perkins  was  ever  a  call- 
porter,  peddler,  photographer,  circus  man,  life  insurance  agent, 
book  canvasser,  lightning-rod  agent,  or  negro  minstrel. 

Far  different. 

4th.  Advice  (philosophical). — When  I  first  saw  the  four  hands 
of  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  the  statue  of  William  Tell,  I  thought  1 
had  learned  some  wise  things.  Then  1  thought  with  Mr. 
Billings,  that  you'd  better  nr)t  know  so  much,  than  to  know  so 
many  things  that  a'n't  so. 

_> C 

^h  18:  ^r 


si/ 

—  »  — 


This  I  give  to  you  in  i^^ood  linL,dish.  I  can  spell  better  than 
A.  Ward  or  J.  Billings. 

2nd.  In  selecting  your  companions  my  advice  is  to  associate 
with  the  nicest  people.  If  you  know  nice  people,  it  is  easy 
enough  to  descend  in  the  scale.  If  you  begin  with  the  lowest, 
we  read  in  Lacoji,  it  is  impossible  to  ascend.  "  In  the  grand 
theatre  of  human  life,  a  box  ticket  takes  us  through  the  house." 

3rd.  "  If  you  want  enemies  excel  others;  if  you  want  friends 
let  others  excel  you."  We  hate  those  only  of  whom  we  are 
envious  and  jealous,  because  they  excel  us.  We  desire  their 
broods  or  talents.  Contempt  applies  to  a  person  who  has  done  a 
mean  thing.  To  be  hated  by  the  envious  and  jealous,  is  a  frank 
admission  that  you  are  their  superior. 

4th.  Everybody  is  susceptible  of  flattery.  When  they  abuse 
and  ridicule  jj'tJw;' rivals,  they  indirectly  flatter  j/w/',  and  you  are 
pleased.  Diogenes  abused  the  superiors  of  himself  and  the 
Athenian  mob,  and  delighted  his  vulgar  auditors.  Some  one 
said  to  the  old  blind  poet  :— 

"  Mr.  Milton,  you  arc  the  only  person  we  have  ever  met  who  is 
not  susceptible  to  flattery." 

"  /  am  pleased  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  the  old  poet. 

5th.  Conversation  generally  runs  around  in  a  circle.  Little- 
minded  people  talk  clear  round  the  circle,  and  repeat  every  day. 
while  great  minds  talk  on  and  on,  and  it  will  take  a  month  to 
even  find  which  way  the  race  is  going  to  turn,  you  will  hardly 
live  long  enough  to  hear  them  repeat.  Little  minds  see  one 
horse,  one  book,  one  house.  Large  minds  take  in  every  racer 
on  the  track,  carry  "  libraries  "  in  their  brains,  and,  in  fancy,  see 
whole  villages  and  cities,  as  you  see  men  on  a  checker  board. 

6th.  Dull  people  are  many  times  improperly  called  dull,  be- 
cause they  consider  you  of  two  little  importance  to  call  them  out. 
Their  great  minds  do  not  show  out  everything  in  a  minute. 
They  have  a  ground  glass  shade  over  their  minds,  and  if  they 
choose  to  lift  it,  they  can   flood    you    with    intellectual    light. 


186 


/f^ 


Others  may  be  bi'iy;ht  and  Jerky,  a.s  Holmes  sa}-.s,  but  tliey  dis- 
tract you,  and  soon  tnlk  out,  while  the  dull  friend  is  "  like  takinc^ 
a  cat  in  your  cap,  after  holding  a  squirrel."  Thunder  make^  a 
big  noise,  but  lightning  strikes  ! 

/th.  A  moneyed  aristocracy  is  not  to  be  sneezed  at.  Monej- 
buys  bath  tubs,  choice  cuts  of  beef,  country  places,  and  well 
ventilated  houses.  A  horse  fed  on  oats,  will  look  more  beautiful 
than  a  horse  fed  on  hay  :  so  children  fed  on  spring  chickens  are 
better  than  children  fed  on  dry  crusts  The  beautiful  daughters 
of  the  rich  are  caught  up  by  those  who  can  afford  the  luxury, 
and  whole  families  may  acquire,  through  good  food  and  well 
ventilated  rooms,  an  elevated  type  of  features  and  figure. 
Because  some  of  the  rich  degenerate  and  grow  gouty  on  cham- 
pagne and  salads,  you  must  not  overlook  the  many  who  become 
beautiful  on  roast  beef  (happy  liearts),  and  the  regenerating 
bath. 

Lastly.  My  uncle  Consider  in  a  late  sermon  where  he  was 
sworn  in  to  preach  the  Gospel — as  he  understood  it — promulgated 
the  following  undisputed  facts — says  Consider  : — 

First — I  see  before  me  ladies  drest  in  rich  camel's  hair  shawls, 
and  gentlemen  in  long-tailed  Russian  overcoats — at  grate  ex- 
pense. You  all  look  nice.  Neither  of  you  kan  see  hiz  own  close. 
So  I  should  think  that  all  this  vanity  would  be  a  bore,  for  you 
hav  to  wear  nobby  close  just  for  poky  people  to  look  at — so  to 
speak. 

Second — Billtwced  is  a  grate  skoolmaster — he  teaches  both  by 
precept  and  example.  He  advises  virtue  and  pracktices  korrup- 
tion.  His  precept  is  good,  and  his  awful  example  is  enough  to 
konvince  everybody. 

Third — If  you  want  to  be  wize,  let  other  people  do  all  the 
tocking  ;  and  soon  you  will  no  all  tha  no,  and  hav  your  own 
noledge  besides.  Brown's  Boys  at  a  fifth  Heavenue  party 
korner  a  bottle  of  shampanc  themselves,  and  then  "  lay  lo  "  and 
drink  with  everybody  else. 

— —  -/-,v 


/7^,//;Y/^_\Vhcn  a  man  lies  to  you  he  says  I'm  so  "  klever  " 
that  you  kant  see  thru  me.      He  komphments  hissclf  at  your 

expense. 

/.>y///__Pcriclese  tho't  it  was  a  "  big  thing  "  to  be  pointed  out 
on  the  Bruathvay  o(  Athens,  but  the  same  thing  happens  every 
day  in  New  York  to  Morres.sy  and  Heenan.  and  Kount  Jones 
tlie  wash-tub  inventor.  Athens  was  a  one-liorse  town  to  New 
^'ork,  .so  Periclese  must  be  a  one-horse  man  to  Kount  Jones. 

Stxt/i—U  you  hear  a  .society  swell  mention  any  young  lady's 
name  lightly,  watch  him.  If  he  looks  noing  and  boasts  of  undue 
familiarity,  he  is  one  of  two  things — to  wit :  If  what  he  sez  is 
true,  he  is  a  goose  an^l  a  lo  skoundre'  for  telling  it ;  and  if  it  is 
false but  I've  rezolved  to  keep  all  profanity  out  of  this  ser- 


\ 


mon 


Seventh— \^\- .  Johnson  sed  that  the  anshunt  Romun.s.  when 
poor,  robbed  others,  and  when  rich  themselves.  For  200  years 
New  York  hasben  engaged  in  robbing  herself.  I  pitty  humanity 
if  she  ever  gets  redy  to  turn  around  and  filibuster  on  the  rest  of 
the  world.  I  dred  the  universal  piracy  which  will  follow  the 
turning  point. 

If  New  York  were  as  smart  as  Rome  she  would  have  plundered 
the  world  first,  for  now  .she  kan't  raise  money  enuf  to  start  on  a 
decent  krusade  ! 

Eighth — My  dear  young  ladie.s,  I  h?ve  been  a  great  philosopher 
in  my  time.     The  Perkinses  are  all  great  philosophers. 

Once  I  saw  a  man  pulling  his  arms  off  trying  to  get  on  a  new 
pair  cf  boots,  I  said  : 

Philosophically  they  are  too  small,  and  you  will  never  be  able 
to  get  them  on  till  you  havcivorn  thcni  a  spell ! 

I  heard  an  officer  in  the  Seventh  Regiment  scolding  a  private 
for  coming  too  late  to  drill,  so  I  said  : 

Philosophically  somebody  must  always  come  last ;  this  fellow 
ought  to  be  praised,  for,  if  he  had  come  earlier,  he  would  have 
shirked  the  scolding  off  upon  somebody  else  ! 

^1"^  T^s,  y\^ 


\l/ 


\iy 


I  saw  an  old  maid  at  the  Fifth  Avenue,  witl:  her  face  covered 
with  wrinkles,  turning  sadly  away  from  the  mirror,  so  I  said  : 

PJiilosopJdcally  mirrors  now-a-daj-s  are  faulty.  They  don't  make 
such  nice  mirrors  as  they  used  to  zvJicn yoii  zuirc young  ! 

I  heard  a  young  lady  from  Brooklyn  praising  the  sun,  so  I 
said  : 

Philosophically  the  sun  may  be  very  good,  but  the  moon  is  a 
good  deal  better,  for  she  gives  us  light  in  the  night  when  we  need 
it,  while  the  sun  only  shines  in  the  day  time,  luhen  it  is  light 
enough  ! 

I  saw  two  men  shoot  an  eagle,  and  as  he  dropped  on  the 
ground,  1  said  ; 

Philosophically  you  might  have  saved  your  powder  for  the  fall 
alone  tvould  have  killed  him  ! 

An  old  man  in  Philadelphia  brought  a  blooming  girl  to  church 
to  be  married  to  her.  The  minister  stepped  behind  the  baptismal 
font,  and  said  as  he  sprinkled  water  over  her  head  : 

Philosophically  I'm  glad  you  brought  the  dear  child  to  be 
baptized  ! 

'i.<^j  A  young  man  was  disappointed  in  love 

at  Niagara  Falls,  so  he  went  out  on  a 
terrible  precipice,  took  off  his  clothes,  cast 
one  long  look  into  the  fearful  whirlpool, 
and  then — 

Philosophically  went  home  and  went  to 
bed  ! 

Two  Mississippi  River  darkies  saw  for  the  first  time  a  train  of 
cars.  They  were  in  a  quandary  to  know  what  kind  of  a  monster 
it  was,  so  one  said  : 

Philosophically  it  is  a  dried  ,up  steamboat  getting  back  into 
the  river  ! 

A  poor  sick  man,  with  a  musta-rd  plaster  on  him,  said  : 
Philosophically  if  I   should   eat  a  loaf  of  bread,    I'd   be  a  live 
sandwich  ! 


'1^ 


189 


/•v 


/* 


—  •  — 


As  a  man  was  buying  his  wife,  he  said  to  his  friend  in  the 
jrraveyard,  "Alas  I  you  feel  happier  than  I."  "Yes,  neighbor."  said 
the  friend  : 

''Philosophically  I  ought  to  feel  happier,  I  have  two  wives  buried 
here  I 

\  man  '•  out  West  "  turned  "  State's  evidence,"  and  swore  that 
he  was  a  member  of  a  gang  of  thieves.  By-and-by  they  found 
the  roll  of  actual  members,  and  accused  the  man  of  swearing 
falsel\-      "  1  was  a  member,"  said  the  man.     "  I — —■ — 

Philosopliicalty  "  I  was  an  honorable  member  !" 


190 


/ 


\l/ 


SARATOGA   IN   looi 


F.r.I    AN    OLD    MAN. 

United  States  Hotel.  Saratoga,  Aug.  28th,  1901. 

Thirty  years  ago,  in  the  days  of  vigorous  manhood,  I  often 
visited  this  peaceful  village.  The  la.st  time  was  the  year  1871, 
after  the  great  Franco-Prussian  war,  when  Lan.  wrote  for  the 
Coviuicrcial,  and  before  General  Grant's  second  struggle  for  the 
Presidency. 

I  was  young  then,  but  alas  !  I  am  now  an  old,  gray-haired 
man,  tottering  under  the  weight  of  three-score  years.  I  well 
remember  the  splendid  young  fellows  who  surrounded  me  j"n 
those  days.  Many  of  them  became  distinguished  in  after-life, 
and  some,  alas  !  were  early  reaped  by  the  keen  sickle  of  Deatli  ! 

Many  of  these  splendid  fellows  belonged  to  the  7th  Regiment, 
and  were  killed  in  the  great  Orange  riot  in  1880.  Indeed,  half 
of  the  regiments  were  killed  during  those  bloody  times.  This 
riot  took  place  just  north  of  Central  Park,  and  extended  nil 
along  up  the  Boulevard  to  High  Bridge,  which  was  then  the 
centre  of  the  city.  The  Bloomery-dole  road  had  been  closed  and 
built  over  for  many  years.  The  City  Hall  and  Post  Ofifice  had 
been  moved  up  to  Madison  Square.  Peter  Gilsey  alone  survives 
these  changes,  and  he  remembers  and  narrates  how  he  sold  out 


191 


\l. 


^  the  Gilsey  House  to  a  grandson  of  James  Gordon  Bennett  for 
the  Herald  publishing  house,  and  how  there  was  a  grand  public 
meeting  to  subscribe  money  to  buy  the  old  P'ifth  Avenue  Hotel 
for  the  New  York  Times,  after  the  long  litigation  had  reclaimed 
the  old  Times  site  to  the  City  Corporation. 

At  first  they  didn't  think  there  was  going  to  be  a  riot.  There 
had  been  a  good  deal  of  grumbling  among  the  Boulevard 
laborers  up  towards  the  old  Jerome  Race  Track,  and  a  good  many 
recent  meetings  had  been  held  on  Thirty-fourth  street,  which  was 
then  a  great  Irish  quarter.  First  they  wanted  their  time 
diminished  to  six  hours  per  day.  This  was  granted.  Then  some 
bad  leaders  with  orations,  meetings,  and  pamphlets,  inflamed  the 
laborers  to  declare  for  the  Commune.  The  people  thought  it 
was  all  talk,  but  one  day  on  the  17th  of  June,  1880,  the  Commu- 
nists headed  by  an  armed  regiment  absolutely  appeared  in  the 
centre  of  the  city  in  front  of  the  Great  Westchester  Hotel.  They 
commenced  robbing,  burning,  and  pillaging  in  every  direction. 
Their  cry  was,  "The  rich  shall  divide  their  property  with  the  poor." 
The  7th  Regiment,  backed  by  the  9th,  and  the  Brooklyn  23rd, 
flew  to  its  armory,  seized  arms,  and  commenced  its  march 
against  the  rioters.  The  rioters  without  any  attempt  at  a 
parley,  opened  fire  at  their  first  appearance.  Colonel  Clarke  fell 
pierced  by  three  balls,  and  General  Shaler  was  knocked  senseless 
upon  the  ground  by  a  shot  from  a  concealed  field-piece,  and 
was  run  over  by  the  mob.  Major  Sniffin  and  Lt.-Colonel  Fitz- 
gerald were  also  killed.  The  whole  regiment  was  pushed  back, 
but  were  reinforced  by  General  Dakin,  with  the  23rd  Regiment 
of  the  5th  Division.  General  Dakin  was  in  front.  A  shower  of 
balls  came  and  the  General  with  four  officers  were  killed 
instantly,  and  the  militia,  outnumberd,  had  to  fall  back  into 
Central  Park.  Then  came  a  time  of  terrible  i>lo<3dshed.  The 
big  hotels  were  gutted,  banks  robbed,  and  newspaper  offices 
burnt.  The  venerable  Horace  Greeley  and  Mr.  Bryant  were 
lynched  by  the  mob  ;  Mr.  Belmont  and  Mr.  Aspinwall's  picture 
galeries  were  destroyed,  and  every  window  was  broken  in  the 

192 


-  •  — 

\ 


/l^ 


\«/ 

Hotel  for  women,  which  Mr.  Stewart  had  built  man}-  years  pre- 
vious. Ahis  I  these  were  terrible  times,  and  I  slmdder  at  my 
own  narration.  Finally  General  Grant  (the  good  man  is  dead 
now),  sent  up  8,000  regular  troops  with  Sheridan  and  Shernian 
at  their  head.  The  mob  was  at  last  subdued.  Since  that  time 
we  have  had  peace,  and  neither  Catholics  nor  Orangemen  think  of 
parading. 

EUROPE. 

I  had  been  absent  in  Europe  attending  to  our  Moscow  office 
of  the  Grand  International  Aerial  Flying  Company  for  thirty 
years,  when  I  jumped  into  one  of  our  aerial  floating  palaces  for 
my  summer  trip. 

Our  aerial  train  was  destined  for  Saratoga  77^  Baden-Baden, 
Margate,  Long  Hranch,  and  the  Adirondacks,  and  was  propelled 
through  the  air  on  the  large  wing  system  invented  by  a 
descendant  of  one  of  the  Hoes,  whose  grandfather  had,  years 
before,  invented  the  great  c\-linder  printing  press.  I  had  heard 
very  little  of  America  during  the  past  thirty  years,  my  American 
Tetters  simply  referring  to  personal  and  family  matters,  the 
wealth  and  growth  of  the  Perkins  family.  Baden-Baden. 
Luxemburg,  and  Wiesbaden,  were  held  by  the  F'rench,  under  the 
Presidency  of  a  son  of  the  Due  de  Chambord,  after  the  war  of 
1 89 1.  Napoleon  HI.  had  settled  at  Hempstead  Plains,  on  Long 
Island,  and  all  Europe  was  quiet.  After  spending  a  day  at 
Baden,  and  an  afternoon  at  Margate  and  Brighton,  in  F^ngland, 
we 

DROPPED    DOWN    .\T    I.ONG   BRANCH. 

We  were  astonished  at  the  great  change  which  the  thirty 
years  had  made.  We  looked  for  the  old  Continental  Hotel.  It 
was  gone.  A  venerable  fisherman  came  along.  I  asked  him  if 
he  was  sure  we  were  at  Long  Branch.     He  said  he  was. 

'•  But  where  is  the  Continental,  the  Mansion  House,  Howell's, 
and  those  long  wooden  hotels  which  used  to  be  here  ?"  I  asked. 

"  O,  they  went  into  the  ocean  years  ago.     The  beach  washed 


\1/ ^1^ 

away.  Do  you  see  that  yacht  ?"  asked  the  old  man,  pointing  to 
the  sea. 

"  \  es. 

"  Well,  that  rides  at  anchor  about  where  the  West  End  used  to 
stand." 

"  But  what  became  of  the  President's  cottage?" 

"  Well,  that  went  with  the  rest.     But  the  President  didn't  care. 

He  was  very  rich.     He  had  made  a  good  deal  of  money  raising 

horses  in  the  White-House  yard.     By-and-by  some  one,  I  believe 

Mr.  Dana,  gave  him  a  fine  colt.     That  colt  became  a  racer,  beat 

everything  in  the  country,  became  worth  $ICX),000,  and  finally 

General  Grant  resigned  the  Presidency  to  look  after  him.     You 

know  Mr.  Dana  and  President  Grant  made  up  after  the  election 

in  1872,  and  they  were  very  warm  friends  before  Mr  Dana  died." 

"Dana  dead!"  I  exclaimed  filled  with  sorrow,  "what  killed 
him  .-*" 

"  Well,  it  is  a  sad  story,"  continued  the  old  fisherman,  "  but  I 
will  tell  you  about  it  as  near  as  I  can  remember. 

"  You  know  Mr.  Dana  had  a  way  of  keeping  a  list  of  President 
Grant's  relations  in  a  paper  which  he  then  published  called  the 
Sun.  Well  he  kept  that  list  faithfully  and  well.  Every  relation 
he  could  hear  of  he  put  down.  The  President  kept  on  having 
children — they  in  turn  had  other  children,  and  there  were  a 
great  many  grandchildren. 

"  Mrs.  Grant  suggested  to  the  President  the  propriety  of 
drowning  some  of  his  children. 

"  But  the  President  said, — '  No,  other  Presidents  have  had 
children— Mr.  Adams  and  Mr.  Van  Buren,  and  while  perhaps  it 
would  have  been  better  if  Mr.  Van  Buren  had  drowned  his 
children,  still,  on  the  whole,  I  think  I'll  let  ours  live.' 

"So  they  kept  on  living  and  increasing.  By-and-by  they  made 
a  column — these  children  and  grandchildren  did — then  two 
columns,  then  a  whole  page.  They  took  up  so  much  reom  that 
Mr.  Dana  gave  up,  first  his  editorials — then  his  local  news — then 
his  foreign  matter.     Then  for  days  and  weeks  the  paper  appeared 


nI/ \!/ 

with  nothing  in  it,  but  those  faithful  hsts  of  the  President's 
relations." 

"  What  then  ?"  I  asked  deeply  interested. 

"  Well  everything  went  on  well,  till  one  day  Mr.  Dana  got  a 
telegram  from  St.  Louis  :  '  Tivo  more  grandchildren  for  Presi- 
dent Grant!  What  could  he  do  ?  The  paper  was  full.  In  a 
quandary  the  unhappy  man  rushed  over  to  the  Tribune  office 
to  see  old  Mr.  Ripley,  to  see  if  there  wasn't  room  for  them  in 
the  encyclopedia.  Ripley  said  *  he  was  sorry,  but  there  was  no 
place  for  them.'  Then  in  a  fit  of  remorse,  Mr.  Dana  threw  hi.s 
scull-cap  at  Mr.  Cummings,  pulled  a  wide-brimmed  sombrano 
over  his  eyes,  and  started  for  the  East  River  bridge " 

"  And  jumped  off .''" 

"  Nobody  ever  knew.  His  clothes  were  found  the  next 
morning  floating  on  the  tide  past  Fort  Hamilton." 

Filled  with  sorrow,  for  I  loved  Mr.  Dana,  I  bade  adieu  to 
what  w^as  once  Long  Branch,  mounted  the  car,  and  flew 

THROUGH    THE   AIR   TO   SARATOGA. 

The  first  thing  that  met  me  as  I  alighted  was  this  mammoth 
hotel — the  United  States.  Three  gray-haired  men  tottered  up 
to  bid  me  welcome.  They  were  the  venerable  James  H.  Breslin, 
Hiram  Tompkins,  and  James  M.  Marvin.  The  silver-haired  R. 
H.  Southgate,  I  found,  was  also  one  of  the  proprietors.  The 
parlors  were  gayly  lighted,  and  the  belles  and  beaux  were  just 
going  into  the  sit  room. 

"  The  what  room  V  I  asked  when  they  told  me. 

"  The  sit  room.  Why,  don't  you  know  about  it  .-*"  they  all 
asked. 

We  don't  dance  the  round  dances  any  more  you   know   in 

America — it's  too  tiresome,   then    it's   considered   vulgar    now. 

The  mammas  accompany  the  daughters  into  the  "  sit  "   room, 

when  the  gentlemen  sit  down  by  them,  hold  their  hands,  and 

put  their  arms  around  their  waists,  and  hold  them  to  their 
bosoms,  just  as  they  used  to  in  the  round  dances,  only  they  don't 
go  dancing  around  the  room.     There  they  sit  and  talk  for  hours. 


THE    "  SIT  "    ROOM. 

"  (),  it's  SO  much  nicer  !  jio  getting  heated  and  catching  cold 
—all  is  quiet  and  genteel.  This  is  the  result  of  thirty  years  of 
civilization.  The  trouble  of  dancing  all  around  the  room  was 
more  than  the  fun  was  worth."    ^ 

I  now  looked  to  see 

now    THE   VUUNC;    LADIES    WERE    DRESSED. 

Such  a  change  !  The  higli  iieels  are  gone.  There  are  no 
more  round  shoulders,  but  the  Goddess  of  Fashion  has  not  been 
idle.  Her  ways  are  almost  as  ridiculous  as  they  were  in  1871, 
when  they  used  to  stuff  out  with  newspapers,  and  dangle  their 
hands  and  their  right-angled  wrists  in  front.  Now,  they  have 
the  front  soles  of  their  shoes  made  an  inch  thick,  while  the 
heels  are  taken  off,  and  every  young  lady  stands  bent  as  far  over 
back,  as  she  used  to  stand  bent  forward,  thirty  years  ago.  Their 
dresses  are  stuffed  out  on  each  side  with  newspapers,  just  as  they 
used  to  stuff  them  out  on  the  back.  Sometimes  the  eyes  are 
painted  black  underneath,  as  they  used  to  be. 

They  said  the  cretonne  suits  were  worn  for  two  years,  then  the 
ladies  got  to  wearing  dresses  made  of  peacock's  feathers. 

I  noticed  the  waists  of  the  dresses  to-day  at  the  United 
States  were  very  high — the  same  as  you  see  in  the  pictures  of 


196 


^t^ 


/ 


Mrs.  Madison.  Gloves  have  twcaty-foiir  buttons,  and  extend  to 
the  shoulder.  The  dresses  arc  cut  low-neck  -vcr\-  low  ;  but  th^ 
neck  and  shoulders  are  covered  with  white  kid  to  match  the 
gloves.  These  necks  fit  so  niccl)-  that  )'ou  think  you  are  looking 
at  the  naked  shoulders.  Shady  young  ladies  now  wear  stuffed 
arms  and  necks,  and  defy  detection.  The  old  fashion  of  powder- 
ing the  face  to  take  away  the  gloss  and  glow  of  health,  has  been 
discontinued. 

Gentlemen  wear  trowsers  ver}'  large  at  the  knee,  and  tight  at 
the  bottom.  The  coats  are  cut  low  in  the  neck  with  short 
sleeves,  something  like  the  ladies"  dresses  in  1872.  Gentlemen 
also  wear  single  eye-glasses,  waxed  mustaches  and  imperials,  and 
earrings,  a  fashion  which  used  to  be  observed  thirty  years  ago 
by  the  ladies.  Gentlemen's  hats  arc  generally  the  mode, 
chapcau  dc  brigand,  turned  up  at  the  sides,  with  rooster  s  feathers. 


—  •  — 

\ 


A~ 


CJENTLKUEN    IN     1^01. 

After  breakfast  1  strolled  out  to  -r^ce  the  great  cit)'  of  .Saratoga. 
I  found  the  aristocratic  Clarendon  precisel)'  as  I  had  left  it  thirty 

197 


/(N 


—  •  — — — ^ — 

years  ago.  They  wanted  to  build  another  hotel  opposite,  but 
they  found  it  would  interfere  with  the  hand-organ,  and  the  pro- 
ject fell  to  the  ground.  Many  of  the  Clarendonites  were  so 
attached  to  the  hand-organ  that  they  remained  all  winter  to 
hear  it  play. 

The  Grand  Union,  I  found,  was  burnt  to  the  ground  in  1894. 
They  had  been  without  gas  in  Saratoga  for  three  nights.  Then 
came. the  great  eclipse  of  the  sun  in  1894.  Everyboby  was 
anxious  to  see  it,  but  the  gas  was  out.  In  a  rash  moment  Wm. 
Leland,  to  gratify  a  guest,  touched  a  light  to  one  of  the  wings, 
expecting  to  make  a  small  temporary  light  to  see  the  eclipse  by, 
and  then  he  proposed  to  put  it  out.  William  became  interested 
in  the  eclipse,  the  flames  spread  apace,  and  soon  the  whole  struc- 
ture was  wrapped  in  flames.  Judge  Barnard,  Judge  Hilton,  and 
A.  T.  Stewart  perished  in  the  flames.  Mr.  Stewart  left  his 
Thirty-fourth  street  house  to  New  York  as  an  art  gallery.  Warren 
Leland  escaped,  moved  up  to  John  Brown's  tract,  cleared  off  the 
North  Woods,  and  now  has  a  mammoth  farm  where  Murray 
used  to  conspire  with  the  musquitos  to  bring  suffering  upon  his 
fellow-men.     He  is  a  public  benefactor. 

At  Congress  Hall,  which  now  extends  twelve  olocks  back 
over  the  Indian  encampment,  I  found  many  familiar  faces. 
The  next  charming  belles  were  those  little  babies  which  I  left 
a  good  many  years  ago.  Miss  Flora  Davis,  Miss  Gracie  Buckley, 
Miss  Julia  Watson  Southgate,  a  golden-haired  blonde,  and  Miss 
Madge  Heywood  Breslin,  a  liquid-eyed  brunette.  They  near  the 
centre  of  an  admiring  group. 

INTEMPERANCE. 

After  traveling  for  thirty  years  among  the  temperance 
societies  of  Scotland,  seeing  a  few  muddled  red-nosed  Lords  in 
England  and  France,  and  spending  some  time  in  Germanywhere 
it  is  mipossibie  for  people  to  drink  enough  of  her  flimsy  beer  and 
sour  wine  to  get  drunk  on,  it  was  really  Refreshing  for  me  to  drop 
down    on    the   shores   of  our    dear   native   land,    and    see  our 


si/ >»/ 

" ~~ — ~ '.  "^ 

noble  patriotic  citizens  having  a  good  square  old  American 
drunk  ?  They  had  built  a  new  Kursaal  for  gambling  and 
drinking  in  the  rear  of  Congress  Hall.  There  at  twelve  o'clock 
at  night  every  boy  went  to  look  upon  the  bright  and  shining 
example  of  American  intemperance.  When  I  saw  the  great  blue 
eyes  of  the  new  generation  of  Americans  rolling  foolishly — and 
listened  to  their  meaningless  but  loving  twaddle,  I  felt  the 
impulse  of  a  spell.  What  was  it .-'  R  was  the  power  of  associa- 
tion. It  carried  me  back  to  New  York  in  her  younger  days — 
carried  me  back  to  the  theatre  bar-room  at  the  Grand  Opera 
House, — carried  me  back  to  the  Gilsey  House  and  the  knights  of 
the  round  table,  at  1 1  p.  m.  Tears  came  to  my  eyes,  as  after  my 
thirty  years  absence,  I  caught  a  whiff  of  their  whiskey  breath — 
for  it  reminded  me  of  the  old  free-lunch  atmosphere  of  Ford's 
and  Jerry  Thomas'.  It  reminded  me  of  the  lobby  rooms  in  the 
capitol  at  Washington,  reminded  me  of  the  air  about  City  Hall 
in  the  palmy  days  of  the  "  ring,"  and  of  the  tail  end  of  a  Fifth 
Avenue  wedding  reception  in  1872.  It  was  a  revival  of  the  pure 
and  lovely  associations  of  my  youth,  to  see  a  man  honestly  drunk 
all  over — drunk  in  his  eyes — legs,  in  the  scowl  of  his  eyebrows, 
and  the  small  of  his  back.  But  alas  !  it  was  a  sight  that  wounded 
my  personal  pride.  I  thought  that  the  science  of  sweet  and 
beautiful  intemperance  had  been  carried  to  perfection  in  the  days 
of  my  youth.  It  was  a  sad  thought,  that  in  this  great  work  of 
civilization  the  proud  1872  of  my  youth  was  indeed  behind  the 
1 90 1  of  my  old  age. 

With  tears  in  my  eyes  I  turned  away  from  the  sad  spectacle — 

the  eclipse  of  the  early  career  of  American  intemperance  !     In 

1 90 1  I  found  everybody  drank — drank  steady,   and  drank  like 

the    Bostonians,    between   drinks,    too.      Why     Gilsey    House 

openings.  Old  Brewery  sprees,   or   the  struggles  of  the  regular 

army  officers  with  raw  Commissary  on  the  frontier  were  nothing 

in  the  consumption  of  poor  whiskey  at  the    Saratoga  Kursaal 

or  at  the  Red  Lion  above  the  park.    The  old  drinking  of  my  boy- 
-^.. / 

199  -^l^ 


—  •  ^ 

/ 


—  •  — 


hood  was  only  sampling.  If  the  comparison  shall  be  once  made 
officially,  the  intemperance  prestige  of  our  youth  will  be  destroyed, 
and  with  all  our  glorification,  the  Republic  of  Washington,  in 
the  glorious  march  of  intemperance,  will  have  to  stand  in  the 
shadow  of  the  hereditary  aristocracy  of  190'.. 


^1^ 


200 


^1^ 


7 ~"  ^ 


NEW   YORK   IN   1901. 
fashion's  changes. 


After  my  thirty  years'  absence.  I  found  wonderful  changes  in 
the  city.  There  were  social  chanti^es  as  well  as  geographical. 
People  hardly  speak  the  same  language.  English  cant  phrases 
had  so  crept  into  the  language,  that  you  could  no  more  read  the 
books  of  1 87 1,  than  you  could  read  the  books  of  Chawser. 

A  party  of  Englishmen,  headed  by  a  son  of  Charles  Dickens, 
had  built  a  London  Hotel — the  "  Red  Lion  " — away  up  above 
the  park.  This  was  the  resort  of  all  the  young  English  "  swells  " 
in  town.  The  "  Red  Lion  "  was  very  Englishy.  They  didn't  speak 
American  there  at  all  . 

Everybody  wore  number  16  English  shoes,  and  one  guinea 
Fleet-street  trowsers.  The  coats  were  generally  of  Pool's  make. 
Old  Pool  was  dead,  but  his  son  Fitz  Piercy  Pool  had  a  tailor-shop 
in  the  hotel.  '  When  you  see  a  coat  that  looks  as  if  it  was  made 
for  the  wearer's  grandfather,  you  can  put  it  down  as  a  master- 
piece of  old  Pool,  tailor  to  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  In  Europe,  Horace  Greeley,  before  his  defeat  by  General 
Grant  killed  him,  would  always  have  been  taken  as  a  patron  of 
Pool's.  These  Fitz-Pool  coats  were  magnanimously  made, 
being  in  the  English  mode — about  four  sizes  too  large.  They 
were  made  with  high  collars  and  long  tails.  They  overcame 
the  wearers  to  a  great  degree..  . 

The  "Red  Lion"  reminded  one  of  the  "Green  Lion"  in  London, 
where  Shakespeare  and  Dr.  Johnson  used  to  get  drunk.  Alas  I 
I  saw  many  Englishmen  trying  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  the 
lamented  Shak.  when  I  was  in  London. 

Many  succeeded. 


/^ 


201 


^ 

The  rooms  of  the  "  Red  Lion  "  were  small,  but  then,  as  I  before 
remarked,  they  were  Knglishy.  One  of  the  guests,  a  young 
Englishman,  born  in  New  York,  told  me  he  was  bound  to  do  the 
straight  English  thing  if  he  had  to  sleep  in  a  7x9  room,  and 
breakfast  on  a  rasher  of  bacon  and  one  roll.  I  told  him  this 
■would  be  the  straight  English  utode,  but  that  I  preferred  my 
regular  meals  even  though  I  had  to  submit  to  the  indignity  of 
being  called  an  American.  Then  1  thought  of  Bunker  Hill 
Monument — my  blood  warmed  a  little,  and  I  said,  right  among 
the  Red  Lion  foreigners — I  said,  "  Gentlemen,  1  beg  your  pardon, 
but  I  am  proud  of  my  nationality,  and  the  time  is  far  distant 
when  I  shall  desire  to  leave  the  proud  Commonwealth  of  Connec- 
ticut to  become  an  Englishman."  This  sentence  I  had  read  in 
one  of  honest  old  Ben  Butler's  speeches  on  the  Fishery  question. 
It  sounded  pretty,  and  so  I  used  it.  The  young  man  addressed 
said  I  was  a  blarsted  Yankee  from  the  Fifth  avenue.  His  name 
was  Ezra  Green,  Jr.  He  was  a  high-toned  New  York  Englishman, 
and  he  turned  and  cast  upon  me  an  "  imperial  look." 

"  I  disdain  a  Yankee,"  he  said  in  scorn. 

I  thought  this  was  queer  when  I  remembered  that  his  father 
and  mother  once  lived  on  Second-avenue — over  there  where  the 
Fifth-avenue  fellows  used  to  go  to  flirt  with  the  girls  on  Sunday 
afternoons. 

Alas!  Ezra's  father  was  once  a  tailor   on    Avenue   W.    Time 
passed,  and  this  respectable  tailor  grew  to  be  a 
^yl:EI^CI3:JLl^^a? 

TAIL'JR. 

More  time  went  on.  Providence  prospered  Ezra,  and  his  coats 
fitted  well.  He  spent  much  of  his  feeble  income  in  improved 
signs.  One  day  they  saw  a  flashy  painter  paint  these  letters 
over  his  door : 


:  Ezra  Green, 

MERCHANT  Tailor  and  inyCI'OIE^TEDR 

?j\ ■ ' . /^ 

202  /|N 


—  •  — 

/ 


\ 


More  time  skipped  along,  the  tailor  moved  up  town,  and  they 
saw  Ezra  raise  the  imperial  arms  of  England  and  France  on 
each  end  of  his  sign.     Then  it  read,  in  bright  gilt  letters — 


Alas !  the  poor  "  tailor  "  became  smaller  and  smaller,  until  it 
faded  entirely  away — and  still  Ezra  made  clothes. 

One  day  a  retired  Broadway  merchant  saw  the  imposing  sign, 
and  stepping  in.  innocently  asked  Ezra  the  price  of  "  exchange 
on  London. " 

"  The  price  of  the  which.'"  inquired  Ezra,  sticking  his  shears 
behind  his  ears. 

"  O  !  I  am  mistaken.     You  do  not  do  bank  business  .'" 

Ezra  said  he  made  clothes  for  a  good  many,  bankers,  but  the 
Broadway  merchant  slid  away  as  if  ashamed  of  his  mistake. 

Fortune  smiled  upon  Ezra,  affluence  gilded  his  destiny,  and 
his  clothes  wore  well.  He  rode  in  a  liveried  landaulet,  traveled 
in  foreign  climes,  revelled  with  the  nobility  in  palaces  without 
expending  a  cent  outside  for  patching  his  pants.  His  career  was 
happy  and  glorious  abroad,  and  his  breeches  never  ripped  at 
home.  When  they  wanted  him  to  return  to  his  native  land  he 
said — this  tailor  said  : 

"  Away,  base  hirelings — dost  know  a  Prophet  is  without  honor 
in  his  own  country  .'  " 

But,  alas  !  Ezra  was  wrong.  Profit  is  always  honored  in  New- 
York.  I  said,  "Look  at  Mr.  Claflin  and  Mr.  Stewart  ;  they  used 
to  buy  and  sell  cloth,  and  still  they  once  had  front  seats  at  the 
Grand  Duke's  ball." 


^r 


20  ^s 


—  «  — 

\ 


GOING  TO  PARTIES  IN    1901 

Gix-at  changes  had  taken  place  hi  going-  to  parties  since  1872. 
The  old  idea  of  dressing  and  going  to  parties,  got  to  be  a  bore. 
The  idea  of  going  to  five  parties  a  week,  from  December  to  Lent, 
was  hearing  to  constitutions,  and  a  source  of  great  trouble  and 
expense.  So  I  found  they  had  hit  upon  the  idea  of  going  to  a 
party  in  imagination. 

[  found  the  new  idea  was  for  the  young  ladies  to  remain  at 
home,  and  go  through  the  ceremony  of  going  to  a  party,  without 
being  compelled  to  submit  to  its  most  "  borish ''  features.  It 
only  took  two  young  ladies  to  carry  out  the  idea,  with  the  aid  of 
a  little  cigar  smoke  from  "  Cousin   rom." 

This  is  the  way  the  young  ladies  did  it : — They  spent  the 
usual  two  days  previous  to  the  imagined  party  with  a  dressmaker 
— that  is,  were  squeezed  and  laced,  an(i  lived  up  stairs  during  that 
time  in  figured  morning  wrappers,  seeing  no  one  but  mother,  the 
chambermaid,  and  bcli-boy 

C)n  the  afternoon  of  the  party  (in  imagination),  the  hair-dresser 
came  with  hot  irons,  pulled  the  hair-pins  out  of  her  front-hair, 
and  dressed  hair  generally.  She  pulled  it.  singed  it,  burned 
forehead,  antl  n^ade  her  feel  dry  and  uncomfortable.  Then 
came  the  powdermci"  and  dressing,  which  commenced  at  six  and 
ended  at  nine 

Voung  lady  n<>u  tiops  into  a  chair,  tears  two  pairs  of  gloves, 
trets,  scolds  her  sister,  and  has  hysterics  because  Charley  don  t 
conn  Ala^;*  Charley  is  only  a  clerk,  on  $1,500  a  year,  and 
how  can  he  ;itfoid  a  carriage.''  .So  Charley  is  taken  sick — in 
imagmation  ;  but,  in  realit)',  Charley  has  snmggled  himself  ufil" 
a/o/w  to  another  party. 

Now  the  young  'adies,  having  finished  their  toilets,  come  down 
stairs  They  stand  in  the  hall  a  momeni,  while  Charley  opens 
the  door  to  look  for  the  carriage.  Fhtn  they  promenade  through 
the  parlors. 


^r 


204 


/|N 


—  •  — 


Now  they  go  into  the  back  hall,  and  black-boy  dips  out  ice- 
cold  lemonade.  Then  they  stand  around  in  corners,  step  on 
each  others  dresses,  spoit  $2.5c^  i^loves  on  lifty-cent  bouquets. 
tread  on.  each  other's  toes,  tear  off  a  flounce  or  two,  tread  on 
eacn  others  toes  some  more,  and  then  (in  imagination)  go  down 
to  sup})er.  Bcmg  a  little  late,  the}'  only  find  a  place  to  stand  in 
one  corner  of  the  hall.  Then  young  ladies  close  eyes,  and 
imagine  this  scene  . 

Charley  hands  stewed  oysters-  over  ])eople's  heads.  Old 
Thompson  drops  boned-turkey  on  lier  back,  and  clumsy  litcrarv 
man  spills  ice-cream  down  low-neck  dress. 

Ough  !      (Wakes  up.) 

Closes  e)es  again,  and  imagines. 

lakes  salad  in  one  hand,  glass  of  champagne  in  the  other,  and 
holds  up  dress  i^'iih  <.■//■<',■*■  / 


—  •  — 

\ 


AT   SUFFKR. 


Dress  falls,  and  nice  oily  salad  slumps  down  on  gaslight  green 
silk  !  StancJs  on  one  foot  a  little  while,  then  on  the  other,  then 
leans  on  Charley.     (Awful  tired.) 


/,\ 


jo: 


'1^ 


—  •  — - 

\ 


Diniks  part  of  a  glass  of  champagne,  and  Charley  pours  the 
rest  on  dress  in  the  corner.  Poke  each  other  in  the  ribs,  tread 
on  each  other's  toes  some  more,  and  then  squeeze  through 
ON'ster  and  ice-cream  plates  towards  stairway.  Champagne  cork 
flies  and  breaks  eye-glass. 

Crack  !     Fizz  !  ! 

Wakes  up,  and  goes  up-stairs. 

Sister  squeezes  her  hands  till  they  are  red,  then  holds  brother 
Charle}-'s  greasy  crushed  hat  against  back  of  lavender  silk. 
Tears  her  dress  some  more,  and  jams  against  sister.  Now 
embrace  with  arms  around  waist  (d  la  round  dances),  and  stand 
over  hot  register  till  in  a  glow  of  perspiration,  then  go  and  sit 
on  the  stairs  in  a  draft.  Wind  feels  good  on  bare  neck.  Sister 
sits  on  dress  on  stair  in  front,  and  makes  silly  speeches  about 
Fred  Hart's  divine  dancing.  Dishes  up  Lizzie  Smith  a  little. 
Then  sister  squeezes  hand  on  the  sly. 

Now  goes  up-stairs  Gets  brother  John  to  puff  tobacco-smoke 
m  hall,  like  Sexton  Brown's  boys. 

Brother  John  says  : 

"  My  dear,  th'  cov'nor's  champ's  very  good — hie  !  ain't't  .''" 

Goes  and  stands  on  balcony  in  cold,  waiting  for  carriage  (in 
imagination).  Comes  back,  goes  up-stairs.  Tired  and  fagged 
out     Head  aches,  cold  bed,  hungry,  bad  dreams. 

Next  morning,  eyes  red,  hair  burnt,  dress  ruined,  gloves 
soiled,  heel  off  kid- boot. 

Oh  dear  ! 

*♦  *  *  ««*  «» 

Now  what  an  improvement  on  the  old  way  of  going  to  a 
party  in  1872.  Just  as  well  to  have  all  your  fun  in  imagination 
at  home,  and  save  carriage  hire.     Isn't  it  ?" 


'\^  206  ^i^ 


—  •  — 


\ 


CANT  WORDS  IN   1901. 

Gant  words,  I  remember,  used  to  be  the  mode  at  Saratoga  years 
ago.  Swell,  nobby,  spooney,  jolly,  loud,  bore,  and  a  half-dozen 
other  flash  words,  "  indicated,"  as  Dr.  Holmes  said,  "  the  intel- 
lectual bankruptcy  of  many  very  genteel  idiots,"  who  didn't  live 
at  our  hotel.  They  talked  in  those  days  all  day  and  never  got 
out  of  the  same  time-worn  vocabulary.  These  words  were  like 
X,  Y,  and  Z  in  algebra.  They  represented  unknown  quanti- 
ties or  qualities  which  "swell"  people  could  not  command 
language  lo  describe  precisely. 

Now  when  I  used  to  talk 
to     Dann     Piatt    and     Mark 
Twain  —  (poor  fellows,    they 
died     a    good     many    years 
ago  !) — when  I  used  to  talk  to 
those    kind    of    fellows   who 
really  understand  the  king's  En- 
glish (over  the  left),    I   was  only 
too  glad  to  rest  upon  these  cant 
words  and   phrases.     I   confess   I 
rather  liked  them.     It  was  so  easy 
to  talk  when  you  could  thus  cut  ofif  the  cor- 
ners oi  language. 

1  overheard,  one  day  thirty  years  ago,  the 
following  dialogue  between  the  masters  of  this 
bob-tail  vernacular  : 

It  was  a  "  clever  "  dialogue  between  a  young 
Englishman,  born  in  New  York,  and  a  young 
Fifth-avenue  belle,  arrayed  in  a  dress  from 
Worth's — 

"Like  Brown  .'' "  asked  Miss  Smith,  pulling 
on  her  six-button  glove. 


MISS    SMITH 


^r 


207 


nI/ . y.c 

"  Yes,  rother,  but  yed  kneuw  he's  too  '  swell  '  for  me,  yeu 
kneuw,"  replied  Mr.  Jones,  buttoning  up  his  Pool  coat. 

"Now,"  said  my  uncle  Consider  Perkins,  who  lived  in  those 
days,  and  who  h'stened  with  swelling  indignation  to  Mr.  Jones' 
reply,  "  if  you  refer  to  my  friend  Mr.  Brown,  of  Grace  Church, 
I  beg  to  say  that  you  are  wrong.  He's  not  swelled  at  all.  It  is 
all  the  result  of  a  good  '  square,'  healthy  diet  and  gentle  Sun- 
day exercise.  No,  sir !  Mr.  Jones,  there  is  no  swell  there — not 
a  bit  of  it !  " 

"Pshaw  !  Mr.  Perkins,  we  don't  mean  your  poky  '-  Mr.  Brown 
at  all.     We  mean  '  natty  '  Fred  Brown,  of  Fifth-avenue." 

"  Oh  !  "  and  my  uncle  went  on  reading  "  Hervey's  Meditations." 

"  Fred  drives  a  '  nobby  rig,'  "  continued  Miss  Smith. 

"  Yes,  awful  ;  but  deuced  *  loud.'  " 

"'Jolly'  with  the  fellows,  and  awful  '.spooney'  on  the  girls, 
eh  .'  " 

"'You  bet!'  'regular  bnck  !'  but  he  'sours'  on  them  quick. 
Don't  mean  business,  Fred  don't ;  he's  '  spooney,'  then  '  chills 
all  at  once  !" 

"  Like  the  sermon  yesterday  .-*" 

"  Pshaw  !  too  slow !  '  Rum,'  eh,  to  hear  old  Swope  pitch  into 
the  Jews  .-'  Did  you  notice  Fanny  Green  laughing  when  he  read 
about  David  'going  for'  Goliah  .'  Ha!  ha!  too  funny.  How 
did  you  like  the  singing  ?     Just '  too  lovely,'  wasn't  it }" 

"Oh,  'so-so.'  Fact  is,  I've  'chilled'  on  last  year's  operas. 
They're  a  '  bore.'  I'm  afraid  our  '  singing  business  '  is  going  to 
"  bu.st  up.'  " 

"  Oh,  awful  !  that  would  be  perfectly  dreadful  1  shocking !  ! 
perfectly  atrocious  !*! !"  &c.,  &c. 

NEW    AMERICAN    DICTIONARY. 

I  found,  on  examination,  that  these  terms  were  almost  all 
foreign  importations  ;  they  came  straight  from  London.  They 
were  simply  the  literary  coinage  which  passes  among  the  London 


chaps,  in  the  clubs  and  in  the  ante-room  after  the  Lord  Mayor's 

dinner. 

It  wounds  my  national  pride  to  think  that  we  had  to  depend 

entirely  on  England  for  these  "  cant  "  phrases.     It  was  a  sad 

thing  that  in  bob-tail  grammar,  that  great  mark  of  civilization, 

we  should  be,  indeed,  behind  London.     With  tears  in  my  e}'es, 

I  turned  away  from  the  sad  spectacle — a  nation's  humiliation.    I 

resolved  that  we  should  be  no  longer  eclipsed — that  we  should 

"  bang  "  the  tail  of  language  as  well  as  they. 

So  in  1901  I  invented  a  new  dictionary,  or  appropriated  one 
which  was  being  used  by  a  young  lady  friend. 

Startling  invention  ! 

And  so  simple !  In  five  minutes'  practice  you  can  express 
precisely,  by  the  terms  of  this  new  discovery,  every  sentiment  or 
emotion  of  the  human  heart.  Linley  Murray,  who  caused  so 
much  unhappiness  to  our  forefathers,  is  at  last  superseded — 
eclipsed — "  thrown  into  the  shade." 

Thoughts  are  now  expressed  in  percentages.  One  hundred  is 
the  superlative  or  the  par  basis  of  every  emotion,  quality,  quan- 
tity, or  sentiment.  The  rate  below  one  hundred  gives  the  pre- 
cise positive  and  comparative  value  of  the  object  rated. 

See  how  in  our  conversations  we  now  eclipse  the  old  "  swells  " 
of  the  Brevoort  House  and  the  cockney  chaps  of  Rotten  Row  ! 

"  How  did  you  like  Longfellow  before  he  died,  Miss  Smith  .-'" 

"  100." 

"Tennyson  ?" 

"75." 

Now,  hate  or  disgust,  which  are  negative  emotions,  or  rather 
passions,  are  expressed  by  the  negative  sign  ( — )  before  the  per- 
centage, while  positive  passion  of  love,  as  Lord  Kame  calls  it,  or 
adoration,  is  expressed  by  the  plus  sign  ( -|- )  after  the  percentage. 

"  How  did  you  like  poor  dead  Walt  Whitman  .-•" 

" — 5."     (She  hates  him.) 

"  Is  Mr.  Brown  good-looking  .''" 

"60." 


209  N  '^f^ 


\!/. ^i-^ 

"  Dress  wt'll  ?" 

"  80." 

"  How  do  y<.)u  like  him  ?" 

"95."     (Strong  friendshi[).) 

"  How  is  the  weather  ?" 

"  100."     (Beautiful.)     (25.  shabby  ;    10,  atrocious.) 

"  What  theatre  do  you  like  best  .^" 

"  Wallack's  95  ;  Booth's  90;  Niblo's  50  ;  Bowery,  20." 

"  Is  Smith  clever  .'" 

" — 10."     (He's  a  fearful  "  bore.") 

"  Do  you  love  me,  darling  ?" 

"  75."     (Cool  friendship.) 

"  How  do  you  like  Mr.  Thompson,  the  banker?" 

"  105 +."     (Heavens!     She's  in  love  with  him.) 

"  Like  to  dance  the  round  dances  .^" 

"  1 20  +  ."     (Adores  them  !) 

"  Fond  of  the  square  dances  .■•" 

"  — 25."     (Despises  them.) 

"  Will  you  /?e  sure  to  give  me  first  '  round  '  at  the  next  Inau- 
guration Ball  .^" 

"  100." 

"  How  was  Mr.  Tweed  for  honesty  ?" 

"  — 75."     (How  much  nicer  than  to  say  he  stole !) 

"  Was  Mr.  Greeley  honest  before  he  died  T 

"  100  generally,  95  with  Mr.  Seward,  75  with  Conkling,  60 
with  Grant,  5  with  Murphy,  and  about  50  on  Protection."  • 

"  Do  you  think  Mr.  Dana  used  to  love  General  Grant  before 
they  died  .''" 

"  How  much  did  Grant  use  to  care  .''" 
"  0,000,000,000." 

1  wrote  this  new  dictionary  out  first  for  the  Galaxy,  thirty 
years  ago.  and  gracious  you  ought  to  have  heard  the  critics  "  go 
for  it."     They  said   I'd  been  "  .stealing  John  Phoenix's  thunder." 


nI/ >!/ 

As  if  words,  phrases,  or  fij^ures  could  be  appropriated  hy  ain- 
one  man.  If  I  say  "  it  is  very  hot  "  shall  some  one  accuse  me 
of  flaguesism  because  Dickens  said  the  same  thin<j  in  Oliver 
Twist  ? 

If  John  Phrenix  says  it  is  a  60  hot  day,  can't  I  say  Tweed  is 
75  honest  ? 

If  you  describe  a  drunken  scene,  you  will  undoubtedly  get  in 
some  of  the  situations  in  Toodles,  and  because  I  use  numerals 
for  adjectives,  I  get  into  the  ground  of  John  Phoenix  !  Has  John 
Phoenix  got  a  patent  on  numerals  ?  I  say  now  that  I  wrote  this 
article  before  I  ever  saw  John  Phcenix's  article — that  with  me  it 
was  original,  and  that  on  looking  at  John  Phoenix  article,  I  don't 
see  similarity  enough  between  the  two  to  necessitate  the  destruc- 
tion of  either. 


~l^  — 71- 


..       .      CANDL1':S    I'/iKSC'S  TlIK  SUN. 
■ '.j,'reatc.st  chan<,^cs  I  found  had   taken   place    in    relii^inn. 
The -Ritualists,  carried  cvcrytliln-  before  them.     Our  -cod  old    , 
Bishop   Potter  finally  became  a  Catholic  before  he  died.     He 
became  a  strong  believer  in  Candles,  Kerosene,  and  Manhattan 
Gas,  and  he  recommended  all  the  duu-ches  to  blind  their  windows 
and  burn,  tallow  candles  to  the  -lory  of  the  Lord.     Then  the 
Pope  dre.sscd  him  up  in  a  scarlet  chasuble,  made  him  a  Cardinal,  , 
and   then  he   dierl.     They  wouldn't   let   ^\r.    Ikechcr    nor    Mr. 
Ciafin  "come    to    his    funeral  because    they    stuck    to    the    old- 
fashidncd    faith   till    they    dic<l.     Cardinal    Potter    called    them  - 
heretics.     I   myself  forgot  the    teachings    of  good    old    Bishop 
Delancey  who  confirmed, me  ;  and  joined  first  the  Rituah.sts,  and 
how  with  Father  Kwer,  Father  P>ro\\n,  and  Father  Noyes.    T  am 
a  strong  Catholic. 

■  My  dear  mother  in  the  country,  held  out  against  Ritualism  for 
many  years,  but  I  finally  converted  her  to  the  true  faith.  I  wrote 
licr  many;' letters  which  were  read  in  the  home  church.  It  was  a 
Ipng.  time  before  .she  took  to  kerosene  and  candles.  She 
'  \s,:g^^^\:^  frequently  said  :  "  O  Eli,  I  cannot  forget 

the  teachings  of  the  good  old  orthodox 
Episcopal  Church,  of  l^ishop  Delancey 
'       and  the  .early  Fathers,  and  go  off  with 
j;.       Cardinal  Potter  and  your  nev.-fangled 
iv     religion  of  candles  and  Manhattan  gas." 
i-        •   Once  in   1880,   after    I  had  Written 
'       ,      my  dear  mother  a  long  letter,  beggmg 


RVEH    PKHlvINS. 


212 


/ 


4' >!^- 

her  come  over  to  candles  and  ritualistic  night-gowns,  she  sent  mc 
the  following  reply  : 

Log  City,  Madison  County,  N.  Y.,  March  2.   1880. 

My  dear  Son  Eli : — Your  St.  Alban's  High  Church  letter  was 
read  with  a  great  deal  of  interest  here  in  our  home  church,  but  it 
made  us  all  feel  very  bad.  We  are  sorry  that  you  have  gone  to 
the  wicked  city,  where  you  so  soon  forget  the  simple  teaching  of 
the  old  Church  of  your  childhood,  and  go  headlong  into  these 
false,  new-fangled  notions  about  Ritualism.  You  ask  us  to  board 
up  the  windows  of  the  old  church,  bar  out  the  sunlight,  and  burn 
flickering  tallow  candles.  You  ask  us  to  tear  out  the  old  galleries 
of  the  church,  to  dismiss  the  girls  from  the  choir,  nnd  dress  the  farm 
boys  up  in  night-gowns,  as  you  do  in  the  city.  You  ask  us  to  do 
away  with  good  old  Dr.  Watts  and  sing  opera  songs  selected  by 
the  organist  of  St.  Alban's  and  arranged  for  the  boy  singers  by 
the  middle  fiddler  of  a  German  band.  You  ask  me  to  tear  up 
our  charts  and  maps,  and  decorate  the  church  with  blue  and  gold 
"  hallelujahs"  and  gilded  crosses.  O  my  son,  we  cannot  do  it  ! 
We  prefer  to  go  on  in  the  good  old  way.  If  God  \\'ill  not  save 
us  because  we  do  not  burn  candles — if  He  will  not  forgive  our 
sins  because  we  look  straight  up  to  Heaven,  and  confess  them 
directly  to  Him,  then  I  fear  we  must  perish.  My  dear  boy,  does 
not  the  Bible  say  :  '  I  said  I  would  confess  my  sins  unto  the 
Lord,  and  so  THOU  forgavest  the  wickedness  of  my  sin  } '  Then 
do  not,  I  pray  you,  my  son,  depend  upon  any  forgiveness  of  sin 
which  men  may  grant.  Eli,  if  you  are  bad,  do  not  expect  any 
man  to  forgive  you,  but  go  right  straight  to  your  Maker,  the  way 
your  mother  taught  you  in  your  childhood.  Suppose  you 
confess  your  sins  to  a  priest  .-• 

"  Who  will  the  Priest  confess  to  .''  " 

"  Why,  to  the  Bishop." 

"  Who  will  the  Bishop  confess  to  .-•  " 

"  To  the  Archbishop." 


/ 


213  ^1^ 


\i/ >k 

"  Who  will  the  Archbishop  confess  to  i*  " 

"  To  the  Cardinal." 

"  Who  will  the  Cardinal  confess  to  ?  " 

"  To  the  Pope." 

"  Who  will  the  Pope  confess  to  .-•  " 

"  To  the ,  no,  to  God  !  " 

'•  Now,  Eli,  the  Pope  is  very  wise  to  confess  his  sins  straight 
up  to  God,  and  you  should  do  the  same." 

1  hear  they  have  a  very  high  altar  and  a  good  deal  of  ritual 
nonsense  in  one  of  your  churches  away  up-town — I  think  it  is 
the  Church  of  "  St.  Mary  the  Virgin,"  on  W'est  Forty-fifth 
street.  Won't  you  go  up  there  and  see  just  what  they  are  doing, 
and  tell  those  two  young  fellows  who  call  themselves  Father 
Brown  and  Father  Noyes,  if  they  w^ant  to  be  Catholics,  to  go 
and  be  Catholics,  but  not  to  pretend  to  be  Protestants  and  then 
steal  the  ritual  of  the  Catholic  Church  .-' 

Write  me  again,  and  our  good  Elder  Cleveland  says  he  will 
read  your  letter  at  our  Thursday's  prayer-meeting. 

Your  affectionate  mother, 

Ruth  Perkins. 

This  was  my  reply  : — 

Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  March  4. 

My  dear  Mother  : — Your  letter  has  caused  me  much  anxiety. 
After  sleeping  with  it  under  my  pillow,  I  went  up  yesterday,  as 
you  requested,  to  the  Church  of  "  St.  Mary  the  Virgin,"  on  West 
Forty-fifth  street,  near  Seventh  avenue.  Since  my  conversion  to 
the  High  Church  Ritualistic  faith,  my  dear  mother,  I  have  usually 
attended  Dr.  Ewer's  church.      I  love  Dr.  Ewer. 

1  see  new  beauties  in  Ritualism  every  day.  The  blazing 
candles,  the  darkened  windows,  the  pomp  and  procession  of  boys 
in  night-gowns,  and  the  awe  which  I  feel  for  Fathers  Ew-er, 
Brown,  and  Noyes,  when  they  turn  their  backs  on  the  audience 
and  drink  wine  to  the  glory  of  the  Lord,  is  beyond  description. 

Pve  thrown  away  the  old  Prayer  Book  which  Bishop  Delancey 

^!^  '^^  '^t^ 


\l/ : ><1 

7 ~~  V 

gave  me,  and  now  I  have  a  beautifully-illuminated  bluc-and-gokl 

one,  with  all  the  places  marked — when  to  get  up  and  down. 
Most  everything  has  been  changed  since  }'ou  taught  me  the  old- 
fashioned  ritual  for  confirmation  ,  but,  dear  mother,  it  is  so  much 
nicer  now.  Don't  you  remember  where  it  used  to  read,  "  O, 
Lord,  have  mercy  on  us,  miserable  sinners,  and  help  us  to  keep 
this  commandment  ?  " 

Well,  we  don't  have  that  any  more  in  our  High  Churches.  The 
old-fashioned  people  down  at  Grace  Church  say  that  now,  but 
we  don't  think  it  is  nice  to  stand  up  before  everybody  in  the 
church  and  confess  that  we  are  "  miserable  sinners."  So  we 
have  done  away  with  that,  and  we  have  instituted  2.  private 
confessional,  where  we  ?11  go  on  the  sly  and  confess  our  sins  to 
Fathers  Brown,  and  Noyes,  and  Ewer.  We  hire  boys  in  night- 
gowns to  stand  up  publicly  in  the  church  and  sing  about  being 
"  miserable  sinners."  But,  then,  no  one  can  hear  what  they  do 
sing,  so  they  don't  care.  When  we  confess,  we  go  in  and  kneel 
down  and  talk  to  the  Fathers  through  a  hole,  while  he  sits  and 
smokes  a  meerschaum  ;  and  then,  with  a  word  or  two,  he  forgives 
us,  and  we  go  home  feeling  pure  and  happy  again.  I  know  the 
wicked  Publican  confessed  his  sins  straight  to  God  when  he  stood 
in  the  market  place  and  pounded  his  breast  ;  and  Christ  said  he 
did  right, — but,  dear  mother,  things  have  changed  since  then. 
How  do  you  think  we  Fifth-avenue  people  would  look  confessing 
our  sins  in  public .''  No,  we  rather  go  round  and  confess  them  to 
Dr.  Ewer  on  the  sly. 

CHURCH   OF   THE    IMITATION   CANDLES. 

But  you  ask  me  to  write  about  the  services  at  the  "  Church  of 
St.  Mary  the  Virgin." 

Well,  I  went  up  there  yesterday.  It  is  a  High  Church- 
higher  than  St.  Alban's.  It  is  where  our  dear  Bishop  Potter 
trains  his  candidates  for  the  Catholic  Church.  Here  they  prac- 
tice the  High  Church  business  a  little  while  under  the  instruc- 


\i/ 


\i/ 


tions  of  the   Bishop,  then   they  jump   over   into   the   Catholic 
pasture  as  Father  Bradley  did. 

The  Low  Church  people  say  a  good  deal  about  our  thirty-six 
burning  candles  here.  They  don't  know  that  they  are  not 
candles  at  all,  but  only  china  imitations,  with  streams  of  weak 
Manhattan  gas  spurting  out  of  the  top.  We  fool  them  entirely. 
Why,  every  time  those  Low  Church  people  attack  our  candle 
business,  every  time  they  attack  that  point,  they  only  attack  the 
Metropolitan  Gas  Company,  and  they  are  not  weak  enough  to 
stand  it.  If  we  had  good  gas  here,  as  they  do  have  in  Cincin- 
nati and  Chicago,  we  gas-light  Christians  could  stand  any 
amount  of  Low  Church  opposition.  Sometimes  I  think  if  the 
Lord  knew  we  were  burning  thirty-six  streams  of  foul-smelling 
gas  to  His  glory,  instead  of  real  candles,  that  He  would  be 
displeased.  And  sometimes  I  think  instead  of  burning  so  much 
gas  where  it  does  no  good,  except  to  make  a  big  show,  that  if 
we  should  give  the  money  to  poor  widows  who  spoil  their  eyes 
tyring  to  sew  by  feeble  lights  on  side  streets,  that  it  would  be 
better ;  but  such  wicked  thoughts.  Dr.  Ewer  says,  are  the  work- 
ings of  Satan  upon  my  mind. 

One  wicked  man-of-the-world,  Rufus  Hatch  1 
think,  who  gave  $25,000  to  a  Low  Church,  told 
Dr.  Ewer  that  the  candles  were  silly  humbugs,  and 
that  the  china  imitations  were  d — d  frauds  on  a 
humbug — frauds  on  the  people,  and 
contemptible  attempts  to  deceive  the 
Lord.     Since  that  time  this  wicked 
man  has  been  detected  giving  money 
to  some   suffering   orphan   children 
who  didn't  belong  to  any  church  at 
all !  !     But  you  poor  country  Chris- 
tians can  never  go   into   the    High 
Church  business,  because  you  have 
no  gas  works.     The  new  religion  of 
POOR  LITTLE  GIRL.  imitation  candles  is  reserved  exclu- 

sively for  us  in  the  city,  my  dear  mother. 

216 


_!/. 

'^i^ 


But  to  our  new  High  Church  service. 

I  got  there  early,  and  took  my  seat  directly  in  front  of  the 
new  $10,000  marble  altar  ^hich  Mr.  Murray,  a  shrewd  down- 
town High  Churchman,  has  just  contributed  to  "  St.  Mary's." 
The  six  pews  in  front  of  me  were  occupied  by  the  nuns.  Yes, 
decT  mother,  we  have  nuns  now  in  our  church.  They  dress  in 
long  black  dresses,  just  like  the  nuns  of  the  Catholic  Church. 
Bishop  Potter's  idea  is  to  get  the  people  used  to  all  these 
Catholic  forms  and  institutions,  and  then  it  will  be  only  a  step 
for  our  Jesuit  Priests  like  Father  Brown  and  Noyes  to  lead  them 
over  to  Rome.     On  the  pews  in  front  was  this  notice  : 


.;  THIS  PEW  : 

•  IsReserved  '. 

r  for  '• 

\  THE  SISTERS  OF  ST.  MARY.  ; 

The  altar  was  gorgeously  arranged.  It  is,  I  suppose,  twenty- 
five  feet  high,  and  made  of  solid  marble.  On  it  are  forty 
imitation  candles,  and  during  the  last  end  of  the  service  they  are 
all  blazing  with  Manhattan  gas.  If  the  gas  were  better,  we 
could  make  a  better  show  still,  but  the  gas  companies  here  are 
all  made  up  of  Low  Churchmen,  who  do  not  have  the  fear  of  the 
Lord  before  their  eyes.  Dr.  Ewer  says  that  he  will  be  darned  if 
he  will  forgive  the  wicked  New  York  gas  companies, 

When  the  service  commenced  I  opened  my  prayer  book,  the 
one  Bishop  Delancey  gave  me,  but  I  could  not'  keep  the  place. 
When  we  used  to  stand  up,  they  all  sat  down,  and  when  we  used 
to  respond,  the  boys  in  night-gowns  looted  up  a  chaunt  in  high 
tenor.  Alas !  my  dear  mother,  my  early  training  is  of  no 
account,  and  now  I  mu.st  learn  it  all  over  again.  How  can  I 
eyer  be  saved  and  not  be  able  to  get  up  and  down  with  the  bo)'s 
in  night-gowns  }  In  the  anguish  of  my  soul  I  cry,  "  Would  that 
I  never  had  been  born,  for  what  does  it  profit  a  man  to  gain 
the  whole  world  and  not  be  able  to  dance  to  the  candlcistic 
ritual.?" 
\  ___^ 

^•^  217  ^w 


Sy 


The  regular  service  commenced  by  loud  singing  away  in  the 
rear  of  the  big  $10,000  altar.  It  soimded  like  the  distant  chorus 
in  the  Black  Crook.  Pretty  soon  the  doors  burst  open,  and  a 
boy  disguised  as  a  girl  in  a  black  skirt  and  white  night-gown, 
entercd^'carrying  a  pewter  plate.  He  bowed  to  altar,  put  plate 
on  table,  bowed  to  altar  again  and  slid  out  side  door. 

Now  twenty  boys  and  seven  men  came  in  with  great  pomp 
all  dressed  in  red,  and  white,  and  blue  dresses,  with  night-gowns 
over  them,  and  bearing  a  large  cross. 

Boy  lighted  more  candles  with  a  long  pole,  then  bowed  to 
$10,000  altar,  and  slid  to  rear.  Boy  with  big  Son  of  Malta  collar, 
carried  Father  Brown's  dress  train,  as  Father  Brown  stood  with 
back  to  audience  and  addressed  $  10,000  altar.  Man  disguised 
in  women's  clotht-s  and  wearing  big  red  masonic  sash,  now  saluted 
$10,000  altar,  kissed  sash,  and  preached  sermon.  He  abused 
the  poor  Jews,  but  didn't  say  a  word  about  the  wicked  French 
Internationals  who  killed  forty  poor  priests  and  a  bishop. 

Boys  now  brought  wine  and  napkin  to  Father  Brown.  Feather 
Brown  made  sign  of  cross  to  $10,000  altar,  drank  wine,  wiped 
lips,  and  saluted  altar  again.  More  candles  lighted  by  boys. 
More  wine  drank.  Drank  wine.  Imbibed  wine  and  saluted 
altar.  Guzzled  wine  to  glory  of  altar.  Two  men  in  night-gowns 
advanced  and  drank  wine.  Then  bowed  as  in  the  lancers. 
Drank  wine.  .\11  nuirchod  off  stage.  Sexton  disguised  in 
black  alpacca  dres><,  put  out  lights.     Audience  left. 

Now,  mother,  1  write  }-ou  just  what  I  saw.  1  don't  know  the 
names  of  things,  so  I  only  call  things  just  as  they  seem  to  me 

Then,  dear  mother,  we  all  went  home.  We  were  much  im- 
pressed by  these  services.  The  children  don't  get  to  sleep  as 
they  do  in  the  country.  Our  brilliant  fireworks  are  as  good  as 
fourth  of  July  to  amuse  the  children. 

Now,  all  this  show  didn't  cost  much.  The  forty  gas  jets  co.st 
say  $2.50  for  the  day.  If  they  had  been  candles  they  would 
have  cost  $3.     The  washerwoman's   bill  for  keeping  the  night 

7iv  —^  7tN 


si/ 


\\^ 


\  _ 


gowns  and  women's  dresses  clean  was  about  $1.3 5 — so  $4  did 
the  whole  thing.  Now,  to  hold  an  audience  with  smart  men 
Hke  Drs.  Chapin  and  Heecher  and  Dr.  Tyng  costs,  I  suppo.se, 
$250  per  day.  Think,  dear  mother,  what  a  saving  it  is.  These 
intellectual  preachers  do  cost  so  much,  and  when  you  can  draw 
the  crowd  just  as  well  with  the  cheap  fireworks,  isn't  it  better.^ 
Any  darned  fool  of  a  mini.ster  can  run  the  gas  works  just  as  well 
as  Dr.  Bellows  or  such  gifted  divines  as  Dr.  Morgan  or  Dr. 
Montgomery. 

Now,  my  dear  mother,  let  me  beg  you  again  to  dismiss  our 
old  preacher  up  in  the  country.  Go  into  the  candle  business. 
Dress  up  the  eighteen  district  school  boys  in  girls'  clothes  and 
night-gowns.  Have  o/^rra  boicffc,  and  you  will  crowd  the  church 
every  Sunday  and  knock  the  Baptists  and  Methodists  into  a 
cocked  hat.  Dismiss  Mr.  Wood,  the  old  leader  of  the  choir,  and 
sing,  not  "  Jerusalem,  my  happy  home,"  but  "  New  York,  my 
happy  home,"  set  to  music  by  the  middle  fiddler  of  a  German 
band. 

Ewer  and  Brown  and  Noyes  are  right.     Their  heads  are  le\cl. 

What  if  John  preached  in  the  altarless  wilderness,  and  Christ 
promulgated  Christianity  from  the  barren  sides  of  the  Mount  of 
Olives  .■*  They  were  old-fashioned.  We  have  the  new  religion 
which  comes  through  $10,000  marble  altars,  and  the  new  forgive- 
ness for  sin  which  comes,  not  from  God,  but  from  Ewer  and 
Brown  and  Noyes.  Wliat  if  St.  Paul  said,  "  Ye  have  built  an 
altar  to  the  unknown  God,"  and  Daniel  in  his  sublime  wrath 
overturned  the  brazen  candlesticks  of  Babylon,  and  shouted  : 
"  So  these  be  the  Gods  ye  worship  !" 

I  tell  you,  mother,  pure  religion  does  not  come  in  the  simple 
sunlight — in  the  open  fields,  but  it  comes  in  the  beautiful  glare 
of  Manhattan  gas-light,  in  the  sickly  fumes  and  lovely  stench  of 
oxydized  rottennes.s.  Religion  is  no  longer  simple  and  child- 
like, but  it  comes  with  an  army  of  banners,  and  with  twent}-  men 
and  boys,  disguised  as  women,  dressed    up  in  night-gowns,    and 


219 


/_ 


>!/ 

— \ 

bespangled  with  the  red  sashes  of  heraldry.  God  is  no  longer 
the  God  of  spirit,  the  invisible,  but  He  exists  in  the  mechanisms 
of  men.  They  have  made  Him  into  wafers,  into  sour  wine,  and 
He  lives  in  dingy  pictures  in  the  Greek  Church,  in  mouldy 
images  in  the  Romish,  and  in  high  altars,  in  scarlet  night-gowns, 
and  in  Manhattan  gas  jets  in  the  new  Church  of  progressive 
Yankeedom.  God  is  not  the  great  invisible  One,  whom  you 
imagine  in  the  country.  He  is  not  the  great  all-seeing  Spirit 
whom  the  blind  man  can  worship  in  utter  darkne-ss  and  without 
candles.  He  is  not  the  Spirit  whom  the  deaf  man  can  worship 
without  the  songs  of  the  opera  looted  out  by  the  middle  fiddler 
in  an  orchesta  of  imported  Dutchmen.  He  who  made  the  sun — 
who  said  "  Let  there  be  light  "  and  there  was  light,  sighs  for 
the  flickering  candle,  and  He  who  thunders  from  Mount  Sinai 
and  plays  upon  the  tree  tops  with  the  whirlwinds,  sighs  for  the 
penny  whistles  and  pewter  bugles,  yea,  looks  with  admiration 
upon  the  new  religion  of  the  Manhattan  Gas  Works. 

Uncle  Consider,  who  has  just  returned  from  Africa,  sends  love. 
He  has  been  invited  to  accept  the  position  of  Chaplain  to  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel. 

Your  affectionate  son, 

Eli  Perkins. 

This  letter  did  a  great  deal  of  good.  It  converted  my  mother 
to  the  true  faith.  They  dismissed  the  choir  in  the  country,  tore 
up  the  old  hymn  books  of  Dr.  Watts,  and  did  away  with  their 
cheap-without-money-and-without-price  religion,  and  started  out 
with  the  fireworks.  The  farm  boys  were  disguised  as  girls,  and 
looted  high  opera,  and  the  girls  who  used  to  wear  white  muslin 
dresses,  and  whisper  in  Mr.  Wood's  choir,  became  serious, 
sensible  nuns.  The  windows  of  the  church  were  darkened,  and 
now  not  a  single  ray  of  God's  sv.nlight  can  get  in  to  disturb  the 
gorgeous  flicker  of  the  candle.  They  darken  the  church  windows 
to  God's  sunlight,  just  as  they  darken  the  windows  of  the  soul 
with  the  thick  veil  of  dogma  and  superstition. 

^i'^  TTo  ^'"^ 


— »  »  — 

/ 


SARATOGA  AGAIN  IN  1901. 

August  27th,  1901. 

This  afternoon  I  walked  around  Saratoga  again  with  the  same 
old  statician  who  used  to  furnish  me  figures  thirty  years  ago. 
We  found  the  park  filled  with  cozy  double  seats,  and  the  young 
people  from  the  different  hotels  were  enjoying  themselves  very 
nicely  under  the  shady  trees. 

The  band  played  in  the  park,  and  it  was  such  a  relief,  it 
seemed  to  me,  from  the  dry,  crowded  hotel  balconies  of  thirty 
years  ago.  The  villagers  started  this  custom  of  the  band  play- 
ing in  the  park,  and  soon  they  drew  all  the  guests  from  the  hotels, 
who  liked  it  so  much  better  in  the  park  that  they  all  left  the 
hotels,  and  no  one  was  left  to  listen  to  the  balcony  music. 

The  one  seat  that  used  to  command  all  the  approaches  on  the 
hill  is  still  there.  My  venerable  statician  says  5,968  people 
eventually  exchanged  hearts  on  that  bench,  but  that  now  the 
heart  business  is  going  on  all  over  the  park.  He  says  the  double 
benches  have  facilitated  the  engagement  business  a  good  deal — 
that  twenty  times  a  many  engagements  are  now  consumated  in 
Saratoga  as  there  used  to  be — and  all  just  on  account  of  these 
benches. 

"  Why,"  said  the  old  man,  "  it  was  a  hard  thing  to  pen  a  young 
lady  up  in  the  corner  of  a  hotel  balcony  long  enough  to  get  her 
'  on  a  string  ;'  and  just  as  sure  as  you  were  on  the  point  of  pro- 
posing, some  old  fool  of  an  uncle  would  come  along  and  say  : 

"  '  O  Fannie  !  are  you  using  my  newspaper .-'  I  want  to  see  the 
market  reports.' 

"Confound  it!"  exclaimed  the  old  statician,  "the  old  fool 
didn't  know  we  were  using  it,  and  that  when  he  took  it  away  he 
unmasked  a  battery  and  left  poor  Fannie's  beautiful  hands 
exposed  to  the  vulgar  gaze  of  the  remorseless  balcony  trampers." 

The  fact  is,  when   they  got  those  double  seats  in  the  park, 


"f: 


221 


xi/ ^^y 


/ 


\ 


enLia-enicnts   became   so   frequent   that    mothers   brought  their 

dau-hters  long  distances  just  to  avail  themselves  of  our  superior 

opportunities.      Saratoga    became  a   grand    matrimonial   mart. 

and,  as  Mr.  Saxe  wrote  in  i88i  : 

"  Those  who  came  before  to  dance  and  drink  the  waters, 
Now  come  again  to  many  off  their  daughters." 

CONGRESS    SPRING    DRIES    UP. 

"  But  how  came  it  i*"  I  asked  of  my  venerable  "  statician." 
"  You  see,"  said  the  old  man,  "  everybody  in  Saratoga  got  to 
boring  for  private  springs.  The  new  Indian  Spring  set  them 
crazy.  They  all  wanted  private  Geysers  for  fountains  in  their 
gardens.  During  the  year  1880,  no  less  than  seventeeil  springs 
were  bored  in  Saratoga  door-yards. 

Of  course  there  was  an  end  to  the  water,  and  by-and-by,  I 
think  in  1884,  the  old  springs  began  to  dry  up.  First,  the 
Columbian,  then  Congress  Spring,  then  the  Hathorn.  It  affected 
Saratoga  a  good  deal,  and  caused  good  old  Mr.  Hathorn's  death. 
People  kept  away  for  a  little  while,  but  they  soon  found  that  the 
water  from  the  deep  springs  was  fully  as  bad  as  the  old  water, 
and  so  they  got  to  drinking  it  again. 

GROWTH    OF    SARATOGA. 

Saratoga  now  extends  all  along  Lake  Avenue  to  Saratoga 
Lake.  There  are  four  beautiful  rows  of  elms  all  the  way,  and  it 
is  one  of  the  most  delightful  drives  in  the  world — so  much  better 
than  when  I  saw  it  in  187 1  !  There  is  also  the  same  kind  of  a 
Boulevard  extending  over  to  Ballston,  past  the  Geyser,  where 
they  have  a  mammoth  hotel.  Moon  died  in  1892.  His  potato 
trade  got  to  be  immense.  Moon  was  ambitious,  and  one  day 
he  heard  Mr.  Vanderbilt  and  Mr.  Stewart  talking  about  the 
"  eclipse  of  the  Moon."  He  made  no  inquiries  as  to  facts,  but 
took  to  heart.  He  died  happy,  and  his  last  words  to  Mrs.  Moon 
were,  "  Never  let  the  Frank  Wadel  bottle  get  empty  while  Sam 
Duncan  lives." 

\ „_____  „ c 


\l/ 


Mr.  John  R.  Cecil,  a  most  genial  wit,  who  died  numy  }-cars 
ago,  used  to  tell  the  venerable  Charles  Wall  that  "  Moon  took 
too  many  '  quarters  '  and  '  halves,"  and  then  got  to  be  a  '  full 
Moon  '  too  often.  He  was  able,  alas  !  to  make  a  good  many 
changes,  but  he  finally  died  broken  hearted  because  he  could 
have  no  '  new  Moons."  " 

Meyers  continued  to  shoot  "kilmaroos  "'  in 
August,  and  partridges  in  September  for 
many  years.  When  Commodore  Vanderbilt 
died  he  bequeathed  him  $500,000  with  which 
to  build  a  monument  to  the  woodcock  and 
black  bass,  which  had  been  eaten  there  by 
Inmself,  Mr.  Boody  and  Mr.  Marvin.  The 
monument  stands  on  the  shores  of  the  lake, 
a  warning  beacon  to  black  bass  to  keep  away 
from  the  shoals  of  Cedar  Bluff. 
Meyers  many  years  afterwards  was  buried  under  the  same 
monument 

LONGFELLOW    AND    UNCLE   JOHN    HARPER. 

"Do  you  remember  the  great  Longfellow  race  in  1S71  .'''"  I 
asked  of  my  silver-haired  statician. 

"  Perfectly,"  he  replied.  "You  know  it  came  near  breaking 
Uncle  John's  heart  !  Well,  he  went  back  to  Kentucky  with  his 
three-year-old  pet^took  good  care  of  him,  worked  him  every 
day,  and  in  1872  the  old  man  brought  him  up  to  the  Branch 
Old  General  Buford  brought  up  Enquirer ;  Babcock  entered 
Helmbold  ;  and  Belmont  entered  Kingfi.sher.  The  race  was  four 
miles — and  such  a  race  !  Old  John  had  not  smiled  for  twelve 
months — ever  since  Longfellow  was  beaten.  He  had  not  cut 
his  hair  or  shaved.  The  burden  of  his  mind  and  soul  was  to 
win  the  race. 

"  The  race  came.  Millions  of  people  gathered  to  see  it.  I  got 
close  to  old  John.  They  started — the  horses.  Jupiter  Tonans  ! 
what  a  race  !" 


223 


^1/ 


"  Who  beat  ?"  I  asked,  unable  to  conceal  my  excitement. 

"Well,  old  John  had  it  this  time.  A  year  had  put  bottom 
into  *  Old  Long;  and  he  came  out  just  three  lengths  ahead  of 
Kingfisher,  Enquirer,  and  Helmbold,  who  were  almost  neck  and 
neck." 

"And  old  John  .'" 

"  Lord,  the  old  man  threw  up  his  cane  and  broke  into  a  laugh 
—his  hoarse  voice  sounded  all  over  the  track.  He  embraced  his 
horse  and  laughed  again.  He  laughed  all  day— the  next  da> — 
for  a  week.  Nobody  could  stop  him.  It  was  a  horse  laugh.  It 
gave  everybody  the  nightmare  to  be  with  him.  Finally,  after 
the  physicians  gave  him  up,  old  John  died— died  laughing." 


—  •  — 
\ 


UNCLE    JOH.N. 

THE     BOYS. 

"W^hat  became  of  the  boys  who  with  jokes  and  fun  used  to 
make  everybody  happy  at  Congress  Hall  ?"  I  enquired  of  my 
old  statician. 

With  tears  in  his  eyes  he  continued  :  "  You  know,  Greeley 
eventually  became  President,  but  he  was  impeached  for 
using  the  regular  army  to  drive  people  west.  Senator  Robertson 
and  Mr.  Sumner  made  a  speech  for  Greeley,  but  both  soon  after 
died.  Mrs.  Traverse  was  converted,  became  an  enthusiastic 
religionist,  built  a  memorial  church,  and  then  went  to  that 
bourn  from  which  no  traveller  returns.  The  Chesterfieldian 
Fernando  Wood  lived  many  years.  He  said  when  the  forty 
thieves  got  reduced  to  four,  his  mission  on  earth  was  ended,  and 
he  was  willing  to  die.     Sam  Tilden  and  John  B.  Harkins  were 

^I"^^  III  ^'"^ 


—  •  "— 

\ 


with  him  on  his  death  bed,  and  they  only  sur\  i\cd  him  a  few- 
months.  Hugh  Hastings  died  in  1895.  After  Mr.  Weed's  death 
he  became  very  sad  and  dejected.  He  even  refused  his  regular 
meals.  He  finally  died  of  a  broken  heart,  and"  was  buried  b\-  the 
side  of  Thurlow  Weed. 

B.  F.  Beakman  and  Mr.  Bissell,  and  thirty-six  other  Christian 
gentlemen,  succeeded  in  purchasing  the  Club  House  for  a  free 
library  and  reading-room,  and  it  now  stands  a  monument  to 
their  many  virtues.  Mr.  B.  spent  most  of  his  time  there,  engaged 
in  reading  and  reflection,  during  the  last  years  of  his  life  He 
often  said  to  his  family  chergyman  : 

"  You  may  break,  you  may  shatter  the  vase  if  you  choose  to, 
The  scent  of  the  rose  will  hang  where  it  used  to." 


A  -tiiit     /\?e\       nil  rS^    • 


\ 


/ 


I  leave  Saratoga  in  a  day,  severing  my  connection  with  thou- 
sands of  friends  and  Commercial  readers.  I  cease  writing  with  a 
feehng  of  regret.  I  commenced  writing  because  I  thought 
modern  journaHsni  had  become  entirely  too  serious  an  affair,  and 
I  wished  to  throw  a  little  sunlight  into  the  columns  of  the  daily 
press,  too  dreary  with  an  array  of  facts  clothed  in  bony  and 
funereal  language. 

I  cannot  leave  this  charming  watering-place  without  thanking 
my  personal  friends  for  their  moral  and  intellectual  support — I 
cannot  leave  without  thanking  the  press  generally  for  its  many 
kind  mentions  and  quotations  from  my  letters — without  saying 
a  bon  voyage  to  the  Richmond  and  Troy  Whigs^  to  the  New 
York  Sun,  to  the  Cincinnati  Cojmfiercial,  to  the  Albany  Evening 
Journal  and  Times,  and  to  Captain  Ritchie  of  the  Daily  Sara- 
togian.  They  have  been  friends,  alas !  whom  I  would  always 
like  to  take  home  to  supper  with  me ! 

I  now  go  about  other  work,  to  write  books  and  spin  for  the 
magazines,  and  may  be  for  the  daily  press,  I  wish  I  could  take 
everybody  with  me  who  has  written  me  nice  encouraging  letters 
this  summer — everybody  who  has  shaken  my  hand,  like  those 
Christian  gentlemen.  Colonel  Bridgeland,  Colonel  Heywood, 
Judge  Mosely,  Fernando  Wood,  Dr.  Corey,  Mr.  Bissell,  Mr.  Wall, 
and  Mr.  Beekman  !  May  we  meet  again.  As  they  say  in  the 
East : 

"  May  the  Prophet  take  from  my  life  and  add  to  theirs." 

Melville  D.  Landon. 
Congress  Hall,  September  4th,  1871. 


si/ 

—  •  •— 

\ 


■»^.»5S-vii^^i^sii^ 


'"f^r^-i"'' 


HOME  AGAIN. 


Fifth  Avenue  Hotel, 

September  loth. 
I  am  glad  tc  get  back  to  the  city 
again — glad  to  get  back  where  they 
wear  nice  clothes  and  smoke  good 
cigars.  I  am  pleased  to  be  where  I 
can    mingle    in    the   festive   crowd    of 

devoted    church-goers  on    Fifth 

Avenue,  where  young  men  keep  the 
Sabbath  religiously,  and  where  beau- 
tiful young  ladies  are  to  be  seen  regu- 
larly going  to  and  returnhtg  frojn  divine 
worship  in  India  shawls,  rich  laces,  and  beautiful  pungee. 

In  the  Park  I  meet  the- same  dashing  tandems  which  used  to 
"  stun  "  everybody  at  the  Springs,  the  same  swell  fellows,  and 
the  same  beautiful  ladies.  The  chronic  old  bachelors  of  the 
Clarendon  still  ride  alouc,  and  young  wives  with  old  husbands, 
who  used  to  flirt  with  natty  beaux  on  the  balconies,  now  meet 
their  young  lovers  on  the  Park — the  Realto  of  the  lovers  and 
the  loved. 


\ 


22'J 


—  •  — 

/ 


—  •  — 

\ 


Many  young  ladies  and 

gentlemen   who    used  to 

wander  in  the  Saratoga 

grave-yard,  or  leave  the 

festive  round   dances  to 

study  astronomy  a7id  love 

in  retired  balcony  nooks, 

now  pass,  arm  in  arm,  to 

church.     She  has  a  quiet, 

submissive  look,  and  he, 

alas !  is  oblivious  to  the 

rest  of  the  world. 
Engaged  ! 
The  sentimental  young 

lady  who  gazed  with  ad-  astronomy  and  love. 

miration  upon  the  stars,  never  noticing 
what  the  sentimental  young  fellow  was 
doing  with  her  hands,  is  still  gazing  from 
her  Fifth  Avenue  window.  Her  lover 
has  gone  away  to  Europe,  and  again  her 
thoughts  are  sic  itnr  ad  astra.  Her  only 
solace  is  Fido,  the  lovely  little  dog  \yhich 
Eugene  gave  her  when  she  returned  from 
the  Springs.  As  she  sits  and  watches 
the  spirit  of  her  lover  among  the  stars,  so 
Fido  watches  with  a  sentimental  rever- 
ence for  his  mistress. 

At  the  Fifth  Avenue  I  meet  the  same 
old  ladies — heads  of  "flirtation,"  "income" 
nt'"-  and  "  pedigree  "  committees,  who  used  to 

watch  the  Clarendon  balconies.  We  spend  many  social  hours 
talking  over  the  romances  of  the  summer — talking  over  the  con- 
quests of  love  and,  alas !  the  scandal  cases.  They  say  several 
old  husbands  have  committed  suicide,  and  that  Baron  Flourens 


'!^ 


228 


^1^ 


\l/ 


nI/ 


was  finally  killed  by  a  jealous  rival.  Then  they  tell  nic  all 
about  the  engagements. 

The  golden-haired  blonde  who  flung  her  arms  around  mc  that 
dark  night  when  the  gas  went  out,  begging  me  with  love's  young 
tears  not  to  dance  with  Lizzie  Smith,  is  here  with  the  rest.  She 
is  still  flirting  with  Albert.  Like  the  other  Clarendon  beaux,  he 
still  looks  sweetly,  but  he  does  not  propose.  Sometimes  he  looks 
mournfully  in  her  face,  and  murmurs — 

"  Darling  Julia,  do  you  love  me  a  little  V 

"  Yes,  Albert — so  much  !  you  know  I  do." 

"  I  am  too  happy,"  he  says,  "  for  I  like  to  be  loved,"  but  he 
does  not  propose. 

Julia  now  plays  and  sings  a  sweet  air  in  the  little  ante-room, 
with  the  door  half-closed. 

Never  wedding,  ever  wooing, 
Still  a  love-lorn  heart  pursuing  ! 
Read  you  not  the  wrong  3'ou're  doing 

In  my  cheek's  pale  hue  ? 
All  my  life  with  sorrow  strewing  ? 

Wed,  or  cease  to  woo ! 

Rivals  banished,  bosoms  plighted, 
Still  our  days  are  disunited  : 
Now  the  lamp  of  hope  is  lighted, 

Now  half-quenched  appears, 
Damped,    and    wavering,    and  be- 
[njghted, 

'Midst  my  sighs  and  tears  ! 

Charms  you  call  your  dearest  bless- 

Lips  that  thrill  at  your  caressing, 
Eyes  a  mutual  soul  confessing — 
Soon  you'll  make  them  grow 
Dim,  and  worthless  your  possessing, 
WED  OR  CEASE  TO  WOO  !  Not  with  age,  but  woe  I 

It  is  a  sweet  plaintive  melody,  and,  as  Albert  leans  forward  to 
turn  the  leaves,  Julia's  mother  glances  through  the  half-open 
door,  as  she  promenades  by  with  Colonel  Knight. 

"Julia  looks  happy  to-night,"  she  remarks  to  the  Colonel  ;  "I 
think  Albert  has  proposed." 

But  alas!  Julia's  mother  had  too  much  confidence  in  hum*n 
nature.     Albert  was  a  flirt. 


229 


As  the  frost  touched  the  autumn  leaves,  and  the  trunks  were 
packed  for  Philadelphia,  Julia's  mother  called  her  aside. 

"  My  poor  child,"  she  sighed,  "  I  fear  we  have  lost  our  sum- 
mer.  To-morrow  wc  go  back  to  Philadelphia  with  ruined  hopes. 

Fair  hope  is  dead,  and  light 

I.s  quenched  in  night. 
What  sound  can  break  the  silence  of  despair? 
0  doubting  heart ! 
The  sky  is  overcast, 
Yet  stars  shall  rise  at  last. 
Brighter  for  darkness  past, 
And  angels'  silver  voices  stir  the  air. 


JULIAS    rNREQUtTTEII    LOVE. 


2^0 


^1^ 


ffiBff  YORK 


UNCLE    CONSIDER 


AT  BALL  &  BLACKS. 
Fifth  Heaven ue  Hotel. 

Yesterday  my  Uncle  Consider 
Perkins  arrived  from  Litchfield 
County,  Connecticut.  My  Uncle 
Consider  is  not  a  college  man,  but 
he  has  got  good  square  Perkins'  blood 
into  him.  He  says  he  has.  He  says 
he  is  proud  of  his  "  genlmnly  "  tastes.  He  says  he  was  born  a 
Litchfield  County  farmer,  but  that  our  ancestors  came  from  a 
noble  "  origum."  He  says  he  is  very  glad  to  visit  meat  iho 
Fifth  Heavenue  and  to  see  something  of  our  fust  societ}'. 

I  take  him  round  with  great  pleasure. 

Uncle  Consider  said  he  wanted  to  buy  some  holiday  presents 
for  Aunt  Ruth  and  Aunt  Patience,  so  we  dropped  into  Ball, 
Black  &  Co.'s. 

Now  there  is  a  good  deal  of  very  nice  and  very  cheap  jcwelr)- 
made  in  Connecticut — some  in  Litchfield  Count}',  but  it  is  not 
made  by  the  Perkinses.  Perkinses  never  go  into  any  such  thing. 
They  all,  except  myself,  follow  the  glorious  pursuit  of  agricul- 
ture ;  they  can't  tell  an  oroide  watch  from  a  genuine  Tobias. 

As  we  entered  Ball  &  Black's  palatial  store  on  Broadway. 
Mr.  Black  advanced  to  meet  us. 

"  What  will  you  have,  gentlemen  ?"  said  Mr.  B.  very  politely 

"  Some  jewelry,  if  you  have  some  cheap,"  said  my  Uncle  Con- 
sider, feeling  in  his  trousers'  pocket  for  his  wallet. 

"  What  kind,  Sir  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Black. 


"  I  guess  I'll  take  a  cheap  black  Emanuel  busum  pin,  for  Mrs, 
Perkins,"  said  Uncle  Consider.     Then  he  asked  the  price. 

"  Well,  plain  enamels  are  75."  said  Mr.  Black. 

"  All  right,"  said  Uncle  Consider,  "  put  this  ere  one  up.  It's 
cheap  enough.  And  now,  Mr.  Ballandblack,"  he  continued,  "  I 
want  to  get  some  antic  jewlry — some  ear-rings  for  Aunt  Ruth, 
you  know,  Eli,"  he  said,  looking  over  his  spectacles  to  me. 

Mr.  Black  handed  out  a  tray  o{  antique  ear  drops  and  asked  : 

"  How  do  you  like  ear-rings  a  la  Pompeii,  Mr.  Perkins  ? " 

"  I  don't  like  these  old-fashioned  antics,'"  said  my  uncle,  "  I 
want  new-fashioned  antics.  Hav'n't  you  some  antics  d,  la 
Chicago  } " 

Mr.  Black  smiled  and  handed  out  a  pair  of  new-fashioned 
antiques,  saying,  "  These  are  worth  90,  Mr.  Perkins." 

"  They  are  thundering  cheap,"  said  my  uncle,  and  then  he 
asked  : 

"  Hev  you  got  some  more  antics,  Mr.  Black  .''" 

"  No  moire  antiques,  Mr.  Perkins,  they  are  not  in  the  market." 

"  Wal,  put  those  up,  then  ;  and  now,  Mr.  Ballblack,"  said  my 
uncle,  holding  onto  Mr.  Black's  collar,  "  I  want  to  get  a  real. 
No.  I,  gilt-banded,  brass-hooped  copy  of  the  Holy  Scriptures, 
for  sister  Patience.  I  want  a  good,  substantial,  polywog  Bible, 
with  the  complete  hypocracy  in  it." 

"  Here  is  a  good  one,  Mr.  Perkins,  and  cheap  at  80,"  said  Mr, 
Black,  showing  a  gilt-clasped  Bible. 

"  That  is  cheap,  I  swow,"  said  my  uncle  ;  "  that  is  gol  blasted 
cheap,  Mr.  Blackball,"  said  he,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  "  send 
me  up  five  of  them,  hypocracy,  polywogs,  and — " 

"  What  in  the  world  do  you  want  so  many  for,  uncle  .■'"  I  asked. 

"  Why,  Jerusalem  crickets,  Eli !  them  polywogs  is  dog  cheap  •' 

Why,  you  can't  buy  a,  Sander's  spelling  book  up  in  Litchfield 

for  less  than  90." 

"  Send  'em  all  up  to  the  Fifth  Heavenue  with  the  bill,"  said 
Uncle  Consider,  and  then  we  went  around  to  Madame  Gobare's, 
to  see  about  some  silk  dresses. 

-). ^ ^ c 

^'^  232  ^(^ 


This  morning  the  Fifth  Heavcnue  folks  sent  up  my  uncle's 
bill.  The  waiter  knocked  at  the  door,  and  as  my  Uncle  Con- 
sider opened  it,  he  stuck  the  bill  into  his  hand. 

"  Thunderation,  Eli,"  my  uncle  commenced,  "  I'll  be  kust 
if—" 

"  If  what.  Uncle  Consider  ?"  I  asked  in  amazement. 

"  Why,  the  kuss  Blackball  said  that  busum  pin  for  Betsey  was 
to  be  75  ;  I  thought  he  meant  75  cents,  and,  great  guns !  he's 
gone  and  charged  75  dollars  for  it.     And  them  90  cents  antic 

ear-rings  are  put  down   at    90   dollars and Lord    bless 

Litchfield  County,  if  he  hasn't  gone  and  sent  up  five  of  them 
miserable  80  cent  brass-hooped  polywog  bibles  with  the  hypo- 
cracy  in  them  at  80  dollars  apiece  ! — Five  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  dollars — w^hen  I  thought  the  kuss  was  selling  them  to  me 
for  565  cents  ! 

"  Ough  !" 


^f^ 


233 


^1^ 


-.1 
/* 


0/ 

—  »  — 

\ 


ELI  CONFESSES  HIS  SINS. 

I  have  joined  the  Rituahsts.  I  belong  to  Dr.  Ewer,  We  have 
seceded  from  the  5th  Avenue  church,  and  now  we've  got  a  little 
Catholic-Protestant  church  on  7th  Avenue.  Bishop  Potter  is 
with  us  on  the  sly,  and  we  are  going  to  take  our  whole  congre- 
gation straight  over  to  Rome. 

O,  what  a  time  wc  did  have  in  our  little  7th  Avenue  church 
last  Sunday — the  candles  we  lighted,  the  way  we  all  confessed 
our  sins,  and  the  way  we  abused  the  old  church  on  5  th  Avenue. 

We  haven't  got  much  money  nor  much  religion,  but  we  have 
got  more  pluck  than  you  can  imagine.  We  are  bounu  to  do  just 
what  we  have  a  mind  to  whether  we  want  to  or  not. 

Gracious  !  how  it  would  have  bothered  those  poky  people  over 
on  Fifth  Avenue  if  they  had  seen  the  lights  we  put  up.  We 
darkened  the  windows,  blinded  every  ray  of  God's  miserable 
sunlight,  and  burned  two  magnificent  tallow  candles  and  forty- 
four  gas  jets. 

On  the  altar  we  had  a  "'V'"''^^' 

blazing  cross,  four  feet  long, 
made  of  seventy-five  blaz- 
ing streams  of  gas.  It  was 
glorious.  It  was  hot  and 
uncomfortable,  to  be  sure, 
and  made  Dr.  Ewer's  face 
red  ;  but  it  was  grand — 
yes, sublime — except  when 
some  blundering  Christian 
opened  the  door  and  let  in 
the  miserable  sunlight. 
W'e  are  going  to  build  a 
church  with  no  windows 
and  a  double  door,  so  that 
God's  miserable   sunlight 


234 


\i/  . >k_ 


/ 


\ 


can't  get  in  to  eclipse  our  beautiful  candle  lights.  What  is  the 
use  of  sunlight  when  it  is  pretty  light  enough  in  the  da)-  time 
without  it  ? 

"  What  did  we  do  ?" 

It  is  easier  to  tell  what  we  didn't  do. 

Why,  in  the  early  morning,  at  8:30  A.M. — think  of  it,  lazy 
Fifth  Avenue  Low  Churchmen — we  all  got  up  and  went  to  mass 
and  confessional.  The  ladies  had  more  talking  thaa  confessing 
to  do,  and  I  began  to  think  that  Dr.  Ewer  was  holding  a  recep- 
tion.    We  would  confess  a  little,  then  we  would  abuse  the  old 

church  on    Fifth  Avenue.     One  lady  confessed  that    Miss 

was  fixed  out  by  the  committee  to  dance  with  the  Grand  Duke, 
but  that  she  got  hold  of  Catacazy,  who  introduced  her  to  Alexis, 
and  she  stole  a  dance.  She  said  she  was  sorry,  but  she  did  want 
to  dance  with  the  Grand  Duke  so  much.     Dr.  Ewer  said  that 

was  very  bad,  and  that  if  Miss hadn't  been  a  Low  Church 

lady,  he  would  never  have  forgiven  it. 

"  What  will  you  confess  this  morning,  Mr.  Perkins  ?"  asked 
the  Doctor,  turning  to  me. 

"  Well,  your  Worshipful,"  I  said,  "  I  confess  that  I  went  to  the 
Navy  Yard  ball,  that  a  miserable  Low  Churchman  stole  my 
overcoat  and  hat,  and  that  when  my  driver  got  drunk,  and  I  was 
compelled  to  get  up  on  the  box  and  drive  home  in  the  wind  bare- 
headed, and  in  my  swallow-tail  coat,  that  I  forgot  myself  and 
swore  like  the  devil." 

"  And  you  are  sorry  for  it  now,  Mr.  Perkins  .'" 

"  Yes,  Fm  sorry  that  I  swore ;  but  when  I  think  of  my  lost 
hat  and  overcoat,  I  think  if  I  had  the  Low  Church  scoundrel 
who  stole  them  Fd  cut  his  da — darned  ears  off!" 


^r-  ^^3s 


—  •  — 

\ 


FIFTH  HEAVENUE  FLIRTING. 

Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  Feb.  la 

Those  flirting  Fifth-avenue  fellows ! 

Everywhere  I  go,  the  young  ladies  are  furious  at  the  way 
Brown's  Boys  are  conducting  themselves  this  winter.  Their 
chief  aim  seems  to  be  to  get  a  young  lady  "  on  the  string  "  and 
then  trifle  with  her  affections.  They  always  talk,  but  they  never 
propose.  They  fuss  around  three  or  four  months  with  a  young 
lady  and  then  plead  poverty  and  the  I-don't-want-to-take-you- 
from-your-nice-home  dodge.  Nov,  the  girls  are  willing  to  go. 
They  are  willing  to  live  in  a  garret  with  a  brave,  handsome, 
working  fellow,  with  a  heart  big  enough  to  kill  them  with  manly 
love.  They  don't  like  these  timid,  calculating  fellows.  They 
like  a  man  who  will  rush  headlong  wherever  love  beckons  him, 
knowing  that  happiness  and  wealth  will  surely  follow  after.  The 
young  ladies  begin  to  get  mad.     They  are  tired  of  waiting. 

I    LIKE   TO    be    loved. 

Last  night  I  went  home 
from  Dr.  Ewer's  with  Julia. 
Julia  is  visiting  with  her 
cousin  who  lives  in  a  palatial 
residence  on  Fifth  Avenue. 
The  old  folks  had  retired, 
and  the  gas  in  the  front 
parlor  was  down.  The 
back  parlor,  we  noticed 
through  the  windows  in  the 
JULIA  IN  THE  TWILIGHT.  folding  door,  was  brilliantly 

illuminated.  We  sat  on  the  sofa.  The  darkness  gave  me 
confidence,  and  I  took  Julia's  hand  and  was  about  to  say  some- 
thing confidential  in  the  feeble  gaslight,  when  we  heard  Julia's 
cousin  Mary  in  the  back  parlor  with  Charley   Brown.     Charley 


236 


^!/ — xU 

was    taking    advantage   of  the   darkness,    too.     We    saw    llieir 
shadows  on  the  glass-door.     I  heard  him  whisper  : 

"  Mary  dear,  I  have  something  confidential  to  tell  you."' 

"  What  is  it,  Charley  ? "  she  lisped,  in  a  sweet  voice. 

Then  we  saw  one  arm  of  his  shadow  encircle  her  shadow,  and 
somebody  whispered  : 

"  I  think,  Mary — I  think  that — I  love  you  !  " 

Then  we  heard  a  suppressed  sigh, 

"  Julia,"  continued  the  voice,  "  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Charley,  I  do  love  you,"  she  sobbed. 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"  More  than  words  can  express." 

"  I  am  very  glad,  Mary,"  continued  the  voice,  '*  for  I  do  like  to 
be  loved." 

"Well,  Charley.?" 

But  Charley  never  said  another  word.  Young  fellows  seldom 
get  further  than  this  now-a-days. 

This  is  as  much  as  any  reasonable  young  lady  ought  to  ex- 
pect. 

Now,  Charley  is  an  honorable  fellow,  and  he  has  gotten  just  so 
far  with  386  different  young  ladies  on  Fifth  Avenue.  It  is  called 
by  the  fellows  the  "  sticking  point." 

One  day  I  said,  "  Charley,  did  you  never  get  any  further  than 
the  'sticking  point  i*'" 

"  Pshaw,  Eli,  yes,"  he  replied.  "  There  are  two  other  points 
still.  We  call  them  the  'awful  oath  dodge^'  and  the  'poverty 
dodge.'  Why,  I've  come  these  dodges  over  the  Fifth  Avenue 
girls  more  than  twenty  times." 

"  What  is  the  '  awful  oath  dodge  .-'"  I  inquired  anxiously. 

"  The  '  awful  oath  dodge  '  is  where  we  '  get  sweet '  on  the  girl, 
tell  her  that  we  love  her,  get  her  to  say  she  loves  us,  then  an- 
nounce with  tremendous  solemnity  that  we  were  compelled  to 
take  an  awful  oath  at  the  bedside  of  our  dying  grandfather  not 


nI._ >!<! 


to  marry  until  the  age  of  thirty.  Of  course  the  young  lady  can't 
wait  so  long  as  that,  and  we  are  out  of  the  scrape." 

"Well,  what  is  the  'poverty  dodge,'  and  how  do  you  do  it  >" 
I  asked,  still  opening  my  eyes  at  Charley's  revelations. 

*'  Never  tell,  my  boy  .?" 

"  Never!" 

"  Well,  I  always  tell  the  girls  that  I  love  them." 

"Yes.?" 

"  Ask  them  if  they  love  me." 

"Yes.?" 

"  Then  they  say  'Yes.'" 

"  And  you " 

*'  Why,  then  I  sigh,  and  say,  '  Alas  !  darling,  I  do  love  you, 
but  I  love  you  too  much  to  ask  you  to  marry  me.  You,  Mary, 
are  used  to  a  life  of  luxury.  I  am  poor  and  proud.  I  would 
not  ask  you  to  leave  a  home  of  comfort  for  a  home  such  as  I 
could  give  you.'" 

"  Well,  Charley,  how  does  this  generally  work  ?" 

''Splendidly,  old  fellow!  That's  what  we  Fifth  Avenue 
fellows  call  the  '  poverty  dodge  ' — the  very  last  jumping  off  place, 
you  know." 

Oh,  Charley  is  such  an  honorable  fellow ! 

Now,  the  city  is  so  full  of  Charleys  that  we  good  fellows,  who 
really  mean  business,  are  completely  in  the  shade.  We  are  so 
diffident.  We  hold  our  hats  deferentially  in  our  hands,  and 
when  it  comes  to  the  question  of  proposing,  we,  non-professionals, 
stammer  and  back  up,  then  go  ahead,  and  finally  get  the  cold 
shoulder,  while  Charley  runs  off  with  your  sweetheart. 

No  fellow  can  ever  propose  nicely  till  he  has  done  it  twenty 
or  thirty  times. 

JULIA'S   IDEA. 

This  morning  I  got  a  perfumed  note  from  Julia.  She  says 
she  is  down  on  the  "  I-like-to-be-loved  "  fellows,  who  go  around 
making  girls  connnit  themselves,  as  Charley   Brown  and  her 

_ .  c 

^h  23S  ^W 


\i/ 


\l^ 


cousin  Mary.     She  says 

she  has  got  a  new  idea 

which  she  brought  from 

Philadelphia,  and  so  she 

writes  it  to  me  : — 

"  Fifth  Avenue, 

"  Dear  Eli  : — 

"  This  is  our  new 
idea.  All  the  girls  have 
agreed  to  it.  We  call  it 
the  honorable  dodge,  and 
we  are  bound  to  put 
through  every  flirting  fel- 
low in  New  York  on  it. 
The  idea  is — but  I'll  tell 
you  how  I  practiced  it 
last  night  and  you'll  un- 
JtJUA.  derstand  it  better.     But 

you  know  it  is  a  secret,  and  of  course  you  are  to  be"  trusted. 

"  Well,  last  night  Fred  Palmer  called.  You  know  he  is  an 
awful  flirt.  We  sat  on  the  same  sofa  where  you  and  I  sat  before. 
The  gas  was  low,  and  pretty  quick  Fred  began  to  talk  '  spooney.' 
I  pretended  to  be  affected.  Then  he  said,  '  What  a  pretty  ring 
you  have,  Julia,'  (The  old  dodge,  you  know.) 
" '  Yes,  so — so,  I  replied. 

"  '  Is  that  your  crest  engraved  on  it }  he  asked,  taking  my 
hand,  (Another  old  dodge,  you  know.)  It  isn't  half  pretty 
enough  for  your  hand,  he  continued.  You  should  have  a  dia- 
mond solitaire.  Would  you  like  one }  he  asked,  looking  lov- 
ingly into  my  eyes. 

"  '  Yes,  I  said,  if  it  comes  from  the  right  one. 

"  '  How  would  you  like  one  from  me,  Julia .-'  he  asked,  with  a 
sigh, 

"  '  Oh  !  I  should  be  delighted,  if  I  thought  you  loved  me,  and 

then  I  looked  down  on  his  coat  sleeve. 


'39 


^1^ 


/ 


—  •  — 


"  'But,  Julia,  you  know  I  do  love  you — I  love  you  dearly,  I .' 

" '  Do  you  love  me  enough  to  speak  to  father  about  it  ?   I 
asked,  interrupting  him. 

'* '  Yes,  dear  Julia,  I  will  speak  to  him  to-morrow,  he  said, 


BUT,  JULIA,   YOU  KNOW  I  LOVE  TOU! 

kissing  my  hand,  *  I 1 ' 

"  '  No,  Frederick,  I  remarked,  removing  my  hand  from  his 
convulsive  elasp,  *  I  am  glad  you  are  willing,  but  I  am  engaged 
to  Eli  Perkins,  you  know,  and  I  was  only  seeing  how  far  you 
would  go  ! ' 

"  So  keep  the  idea  a  secret  a  little  while,  my  dear  Eli,  and  we 
girls  will  fool  every  fellow  in  New  York.     Mum  is  the  word  ! 

"  Your  own  love, 

"Julia -." 


^"^^ 


^1^ 


140 


/ 


FLIRTING. 


MOLLY    BROWN. 

The  following  letter  from  a  young  lady  is  full  of  suggestion.s. 
It  comes  written  in   a  patrician  hand.     The  writing   is  graceful, 
sweeping,  and  dashy.     It  tells  the  .story  so  truly,  and  teaches  a 
moral  so  keenly,  that  t  cannot  resist  giving  it  to  you. 
•    Miss  Mollie  Brown,  of  Forty-.sixch  street,  writes  : 

Dear  Mr.  Perkvis : 

I  wish  to  ask  your  sympathy  and  advice  on  a  subject  that  has 
long  been  weighing  on  my  mind,  and  that  fs — flirting. 

You  see  i  have  got  the  name  of  being  that  despicable  thing — 
a  flirt — simply  because  1  look  after  my  own  interests.  Par 
example :  I  am  pretty — every  one  says  so — and  have  plenty  of 
admirers.  Well,  so  soon  as  a  young  gentleman,  whom  I  like 
pretty  well,  calls  on  me  two  ox  three  time.s,  I  am  brought  up  for 
examination  before  my  paternal. 

"  Who  is  he  .''  "  my  relative  stern I3-  inquires, 

"  Mr.  Smith,  papa,"  I  meekly  respond,  telling  in  ten  words  all 
I  know  about  the  man. 


\ 


241 


*'  Where  does  he  live  ?  What's  his  father's  name  ?  What's 
his  business  ?  How  much  does  he  make  a  year  ?  What  are  his 
habits  ?  "  follow  each  other  in  quick  succession,  and,  not  being 
able  to  answer,  I  steadily  set  to  work  to  discover  these  important 
facts,  my  father  never  thinking  of  doing  it  for  me. 

Well,  in  two  months,  by  continual  pumping  I  discover  his 
place  of  abode — quite  stylish  ! 

In  three  months  I  discover  his  father's  name — John. 

In  four  his  business — small  broker  in  Wall  street. 

In  five,  income — uncertain. 

In  six,  habits  ditto  ! ! 

Now,  what  is  left  for  me  to  do  .'*  I  have  wasted  three  months 
finding  out  that  it  would  be  very  foolish  for  me  to  marry  Smith. 
I  can't  help  it — I  tried  hard  ;  but  in  a  big  city  like  this,  it  is  hard  to 
find  out  about  anybody,  so  I  can  do  nothing  but  give  the  case  of 
Smith  up,  and  try  again.  Of  course  I've  treated  Mr.  Smith 
kindly,  because  he  looked  like  a  solid  fellow,  and  I  didn't  like  to 
lose  a  good  opportunity. 

Now,  it  happens  that,  having  tried  to  look  out  for  myself  in 
this  way  some  dozen  times  or  so,  I  have  drawn  down  on  my 
devoted  head  the  opprobrious  epithet  of — Flirt — and  as  a  natural 
consequence,  all  your  "  Brown's  boys,"  thinking  me  fair  game  for 
a  flirtation,  are  overwhelming  me  with  their  detrimental 
attentions,  to  the  disgust  of  all  the  eligibles. 

Now,  dear  Mr.  Perkins,  can't  you  advise  me  on  this  subject, 
or  at  least  make  Mrs.  Grundy  retract  the  unenviable  riame  she 
has  bestowed  upon  me  ? 

My  only  desire  is  to  pursue  my  own  way  peacefully,  and, 
before  I  die,  marry  some  well-educated  young  man  with  a  good 
family,  good  business,  good  habits,  good  income,  good-looking, 
and  good-natured  enough  to  make  me  love  him  ;  and  surely  no 
girl  could  ask  less,  could  they  ? 

Yours,  imploringly, 

MoLLiE  Brown. 

Forty-sixth  street,  March  17. 

'^2  ^'(^ 


No,  Miss  MoUie — no  !  your  experience  I  bclic\c  to  be  the 
experience  of  almost  every  pretty  young  lady  from  Madison 
square  to  the  Park.  The  mission  of  an  accomplished  j'ounj^ 
lady  is  to  marry  a  brave  yountj  fellow  with  money  enou-^di  to 
support  her,  and  love  enough  in  his  big,  generous  heart  to  make 
her  happy. 

You  are  not  a  "  flirt."  You  simply  .show  a  little  management. 
You  are  doing  simply  what  your  b\-^  brother  and  shrewd  father 
ought  to  do  for  you — guarding  against  being  deceived.  You 
don't  want  to  wreck  your  young  life  by  marrj'ing  a  man  whose 
pfe  is  purposeless,  and  who  is  penniless,  reckless,  and  heartless  ? 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

Why,  there  should  be  confidential  relations  between  you  and 
your  father.  I  don't  mean  that  he  should  be  an  old  pepper-and- 
salt  dromedary,  who  drives  blooded  fellows  away  by  boring  thcni 
to  death  with  business  questions  the  first  night  they  call ;  but  as 
soon  as  Mr.  Smith  shows  the  least  speck  of  devotion,  you  should 
go  right  and  tell  your  father,  and  he  in  a  gentle  and  Chcstcr- 
fieldian  manner  should  make  a  quiet  inquiry  about  Smith 
aforesaid.  Finding  Smith  one  of  Brown's  boys,  he  should  tell 
you  so,  and  the  next  time  he  called  you  could  be  out ;  while  if 
Smith  was  found  to  be  a  plucky,  and  aspiring  young  fellow,  your 
papa  could  say  that,  and  leave  the  rest  to  you  and  Smith 
aforesaid. 

"  What  is  flirting,  anyway  .-'  " 

It  is  simply  making  yourself  agreeable.  It  is  a  compliment 
to  be  called  a  flirt.  I  never  knew  a  flirt  who  wasn't  pretty, 
accomplished,  and  whose  heart,  when  once  caught,  wasn't  big 
enough  and  warm  enough  to  make  a  man  worship  her  all  his  life. 
Such  being  the  case,  of  course  she  was  fixed  out  with  velvet 
walking  dresses,  camel's  hairs,  six-button  gloves,  and  boxes  at 
the  opera  for  the  rest  of  her  natural  existence. 

If  you  call  it  flirting  to  become  engaged  to  a  fellow  and  then 
break  such  engagement,  and  with  it  an  honest  man's  heart,  alter 


\ 


243 


cabbaging  a  solitaire  and  a  winter's  supply  of  opera  and  big 
bouquets,  I  don't.  If  you  call  it  flirting  for  a  scamp  to  absorb  a 
year  of  a  young  lady's  life,  to  steal  her  confiding  kisses  of 
betrothed  maidenhood,  and  then  break  an  engagement  and  a 
confiding  heart — if  you  call  that  flirting,  I  don't.  I  call  such 
things  criminal,  and  a  man  ought  to  be  put  in  the  Tombs  for 
doing  it,  just  the  same  as  he  ought  to  be  put  in  the  Tombs  for 
any  other  swindling  confidence  game. 

Fhrting  in  the  New  York  sense  is  when  a  young  lady  makes 
herself  agreeable,  and  consequently  has  lots  of  admirers,  whom 
she  keeps  "  on  a  string  "  until  she  makes  up  her  mind  which  one 
she  loves  best,  and  which  one  has  the  biggest  and  bravest  heart. 
Flirting  with  blooded  New  York  fellows  is  when  a  young  fellow 
with  a  heart  full  of  splendid  boyishness  loves  all  the  pretty  girls 
on  the  street,  until,  by-and-by,  some  sweet  angel  captures  him, 
head,  heart,  Russian  overcoat,  and  the  thousand  little  flirting 
loves  are  concentrated  through  the  focus  of  honest  love  upon  the 
new  object  of  his  adoration.  And  there  they  both  stand,  Mollie 
Brown  !  both  caught,  both  true  and  together — one  spirit,  they 
travel  down  the  happy  highway  of  life ! 


244 


/i\ 


/ 


NEW  YEAR'S  CALLS. 


rsCJ.E    KI,l'9    1 25X11    CAJ.L. 

Fll'Ttl  AVENUl'    llnTKL,    I  A.   M.,  Jan  2. 

I  don't  feel  like  wrltinc^  to-day,  m)'  head  aches.  I  made  calls 
yesterday — made  125  calls.  I  finished  them  about  tuehc 
o'clock — an  hour  ago. 

I  had  my  call  list  written  off,  and  commenced  at  Sixtieth 
street,  anci  came  down.  My  idea  was  to  make  125  calls  of  five 
minutes  each.  This  would  take  625  minutes,  or  ten  hours.  I 
think  I  did  it.  I  worked  hard.  I  was  an  intermittent  perpetual 
motion.  I  did  all  that  anybod\-  cv//^ii  do.  If  any  fellow  sa}'s  he 
made  126  calls,  he — v.ell,  he  is  guilty  of  li-bel.  I  tried  it.  I 
m<ide  my  125th  ca'.l  with  mj-  e}-es  closed,  and  at  my  126th  I 
swooned  on  the  hall  stairs.     Nature  whs  exhausted.     Oh  !  but 


245 


\ 


wasn't  it  fun  !  It  is  nothinj;  to  make  calls  after  you  have  been 
at  it  a  si)ell.  The  last  twenty  calls  were  made  with  one  eye 
closed.  I  was  actual])'  takinc;  a  mental  nap  all  the  time.  My 
t()n!4ue  talked  right  straii^ht  ahead,  from  force  of  habit.  Talking 
came  as  easy  as  ordinary  respiration.  All  I  ha  J  to  do  was  to 
open  my  mouth,  and  the  same  words  tumbled  out : 

"  Hap — new  year,  Miss  Smitte!" 
"Ah,  Mr.  Perkins!   I'ln  d^jlighted— " 
"  Ma\-  you  have  man   hap' returns — bye — by!" 
^'  But  ar'n't  you  'J,"onig"  to  drink  to — 

"  Thank — pleasure  ((U-,uik).  May  you  live  thousand  years.  By — 
by,"  (slidui.^-  inl(j  the  hall  and  down  the  front  steps.) 

I  started  at  noon.     Made  first  call  on  young  lady. 

She  saitl,  "  You  have  many  calls  to  make.  Won't  you  fortify 
yourself  with  a  little  sherry  }'' 

I  said  1  would,  and  drank  small  glass. 

C.dled  next  on  married  lady  on  P'ifth  Avenue. 

She  said.  "  J.et's  drink  to  William." — (You  know  Will  is  off 
making  calls  on  the  girls.) 

"All  right,  Mrs.  Mason  "—then  we  drank  some  nice  old  port 
to  absent  William. 

On  h'ort) -ninth  street  met  a  sainted  Virginia  mother,  who  had 
.some  real  old  Virginia  egg-nog. 

Very  nice  Southern  egg-nog.  Abused  the  Yankees,  and 
drank  two  glasses  with  Virginia  mother. 

On  h'orty-sixth  street  met  lady  who  had  some  nice  California 
wine.  Tried  it.  Then  went  across  the  street  with  Democratic 
friend  to  say  NcwYears  and  getsome  of  old  Skinner's  i836brandy. 
Got  it.  Mrs.  Skinner  wanted  us  tc^  drink  to  Skinner,  Diank 
to  Skinner,  and  ate  lobster  salad. 

Met  a  friend,  who  said  : 

"  Let's  run  in  and  see  Coe,  the  temperance  man." 

Coe  said  : 

"  Ah  !  happy  time  !     Let's  drink  to  my  wife." 


/ 


^'^  246  "  ^1^ 


—  •  •— 

\ 


Drank  bottle  of  champagne  to  Mrs.  Coe — then  drank  to  chil 
dren. 

Drove  round  to  Miss  Thompson's,  on  Fifth  Avenue.  'Ilie 
Thompsons  are  famous  for  rum  punch.  Tried  two  glasses  with 
Miss  Thompson.  Very  happy.  House  looked  lovely.  Ate 
brandy  peaches.  Good  many  lights.  Pretty  girls,  quite  numer- 
ous. Drank  their  health.  Drank  claret.  Then  drank  Roman 
punch.  Went  out,  leaving  hat  and  a  twelve-dollar  umbrella  in 
the  hat-rack. 

Happy  thought  ! — Took  Charley  Brown  in  the  carriage. 
Charley  said,  "  Let's  drop  in  on  the  Madison  Avenue  Masons." 
"  All  right."  dropped  in.  Miss  Mason  says,  "  Have  some  nice 
old  Madera  ? "  Said,  "  Yes,  Miss  Mas'n,  will  have  some,  my 
dearie."  Drank  to  Mrs.  Mason,  and  ate  boned  turkey  to  )'oung 
ladies.  Young  ladies  dressed  beautifully — hair,  court  train,  and 
shoes  a  la  Povipadoiir.  Left  overcoat  and  changed  high  hat  for 
fur  cap.  Saw  a  span  of  horses  in  a  carriage  drawn  by  Charley 
King.  Charley  was  tightually  slight.  Said  he  had  been  in  to 
Lees,  eating  boned  sherry  and  drinking  pale  turkey. 

Now  all  called  on  the  Lambs  on  Thirty-fourth  Avenue.  Old 
Lamb  was  round.     "  Lam's  chops  very  good,"  says  Charley. 

Also  drank  brandy  peaches  here,  and  ate  more  pony  brandv. 
Young  ladies  beau'ful — high  heeled  dress  and  shoes  cut  dccollctt-. 
Great  many  of  them.  Nice  Roman  punch  with  monogram  on 
it.  Had  fried  sandwich  with  brandy  on  it.  Presented  large 
bouquet  in  corner  to  Mrs.  Lamb.  Exchanged  hat  for  hall  card 
basket,  and  slid  down  front  banisters. 

Called  on  Vanderbilt.  Hang  Vanderbilt  !  Vanderbilt  did't 
rec'v  calls.  Carried  off  card  basket  and  hung  Charley's  hat  on 
bell  knob.  Used  Van's  cards  to  make  other  calls  with.  Kept 
calling.  Called  steady.  Called  between  calls.  Drank  more. 
Drank  everywhere.  Young  ladies  more  beauTul.  Wanted  us 
to  come  back  to  party  in  the  evening.  Came  back.  Grand 
party.     Bernstein    furnished    by    music.     Drank    more    lobster 


—  ♦  ^ 

/ 


salad.  Drank  half  a  L,^la.ss  of  silk  dress  and  poured  rest  on  skirt 
of  Miss  Smith's  champagne  in  corner.  Slumped  plate  gas-lij^ht 
green  silk  down  on  to  nice  ice  cream.  Dresses  wore  white  tar- 
letan — young  ladies  cut  swallow  tail.  Sat  on  young  lady's  hand 
and  held  stairs.     Very  happy.     Fellows  had  been  drinking. 

1 1  P.M.  Left  party.  Carriage  outside  wanted  me  to  get  into 
Fred  Young  and  promenade  over  to  the  Stewarts.  Roman 
punch  had  been  drinking  Fred.  He  invited  eight  other  horses 
to  get  into  the  fellows  and  ride  around  to  the  Stewarts.  Stewart 
ti<7ht  and  house  closed  up.  Left  pocketbook  in  card-basket  out- 
side, and  hung  watch  and  chain  over  bell  knob. 

Called  on  the  Furgisons.  All  up.  Had  old  Burgundy.  Fur- 
gison's  a  brick.  Took  sherry.  Beau'ful  young  lady  dressed  in 
blue  Roman  punch.  Opened  bottle  of  white  gross  grain  trimmed 
with  Westchester  County  lace.  Drank  it  up.  Got  on  (hie)  out- 
side and  drove  driver  home.  Fellows  getting  more  tete-uly 
slight.  Drank  Pompadour  rum  with  young  lady  dressed  a  la 
Jamaica.  Hadn't  strength  to  refuse.  Drank  hap'  (hie)  new 
year  fifteen  times — then  got  into  Fif  Thavenue  Hotel,  and  told 
driver  to  drive  round  to  the  carriage.  Came  up  to  letter,  and 
wrote  this  room  for  the  Com-vertiser.  Pulled  coat  off  with  the 
boot-jack,  and  stood  self  up  by  the  regster  to  dry.     Then  wrote 

(hie) wrote  more (hie.) 

U-LI  Perkings. 


^  _ 


248 


^f^ 


—  •  — 

/ 


—  •  — 


ALBERT  AND  JULIA. 

P^IILADELPHIA,  Feb.  4. 
I  am  in  the  city  of  Brotherly  Love.  I,  came  on  to  call  on 
Julia,  who  has  returned  to  the  city  of  Brotherly  Love.  I  wanted 
tcJ  see  her  after  our  season  at  Saratoga.  I  wanted  to  talk  about 
Alberts  the  balcony  scenes,  the  grave-yard,  and  our  engagement. 
As  I  pulled  the  bell  of  her  palatial  Chestnut-street  mansion, 
the  big  walnut  doors  swung  back,  and  there — there — in  the  parlor 
with  Julia — sat  Albert.  I  overheard  him  say,  "  dear  Julia,  this  is 
the  city  of  Brotherly  Love,  isn't  it  .-^ " 

"  Yes,  and  Loverly  Love  too,  Albert,"  she  replied  sweetly.  ,■ 
Then  he  looked  thoughtful  a  moment. 

"  Julia,"  he  continued,  "  you  have  thought  me  a  filrt-r- ?" 

"  Yes,  Albert,"  Julia  interrupted.  C 

"  You  have  seen  me  at  your  side  all  summer.  Toget-her  we 
danced  the  German,  together  we  have  promenaded  in  the  moon- 
light, and  now,  dear  Julia,"  he  continued  as  lielfoimbled  in  his  vest 

pocket 

"What,  Albertlf^^ 
^*Why,  deare^  JuHa^  I  would  ask 
you  to  walk  "^2^  me  dtJwn  the  pat)i- 
way  of  life."  \1j=^  >-^^^  • 

Julia  made  "ii^t'^reply.  She  Ivad 
evidently  forgotten  me/"  for  her  face 
sank  gently  on  his  shoHider,  and  then 
1  saw  him  gently  slip  a  solitaire  upon 
her  finger,  while  her  face  lit  up  ^v'ith 
^^^'  a  flood  of  happiness. 

My  Julia  was  gone  ! 


249 


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